The Final Problem
by DezoPenguin
Summary: EMDN Story 5. Natsuki nears an answer to her mother's death, but the Obsidian Court's eye has fallen on her as well. As Shizuru takes on the case of the murder of a foreign noble, a game of cat and mouse plays out with the fate of both women at stake.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Well, here we are, back again for another installment in the "Elementary, My Dear Natsuki" series. "But wait!" you say, Shizuru-like, noticing at once that the A/N at the end of "Deep Waters, Natsuki" as well as the master series list in my profile indicate that the fourth chapter should be "You Know My Methods, Natsuki" and that "The Final Problem" should be the fifth story._

_Um..._

_Well, as several of you know (especially if you read the one-shot, "Writer's Block," you'll know that I ran into a wall when it came to trying to write YKMMN. I had a complete plot and characters, but what I did not have was the technical details of the mystery: the "Shizuru notices Clue X, which leads her to Deduction Y." I had who, what, when, where, and why...but not how. I'd meant to start posting YKMMN chapters in September 2010. You may have noticed that it is no longer September. It's not even October._

_And just to make things more difficult, I seemingly had _no problem_ writing TFP. I initially started writing it because I was completely in the mood to write Shizlock and Watsuki (thanks OscarLady at shoujoai-dot-com for that little nickname and to deathcurse for making sure I'd never get it out of my head again!) and I needed to put _something_ down on paper or go crazy. So I wrote. And wrote. And wrote. Or in other words, I'd posted "Deep Waters, Natsuki" with two-week gaps between chapters to make absolutely sure I'd have time to hammer out a difficult chapter if I needed the time. This story will be posting weekly. As I'm writing this, I have the first twelve chapters complete in rough draft form._

_So, if I have this much written, then why didn't I start posting earlier? Well, I had a lot of soul-searching to do. This is a braided novel, by which Natsuki's quest to find her mother's killers and take revenge, and Shizuru and Natsuki growing closer together as people and trying to break through the reserve that surrounds them both, are steady, slowly developing plotlines. Those of you who know your Sherlock Holmes will anticipate that a story titled "The Final Problem" will feature several matters coming to a climax here. Posting this story without YKMMN filling its respective place would, I was afraid, make TFP seem to come out of nowhere in story development._

_Plus, you know, YKMMN was Nao's appearance in the series, and I was afraid if I skipped her I'd wake up tied up in an alley or something._

_Seriously, though, it took a lot of soul-searching to come to this decision. Those of you whom I shared my feelings with and asked your opinion, thank you for hearing out my babble (pity my poor wife Tarma, who had to hear the babble IRL!) and for offering your thoughts. I couldn't have made a decision without all your support!_

_So, basically, I've decided that instead of leaving you, the readers, hanging forever waiting for Story #4 of EMDN, I'd skip it and move along. You've all been great and supportive of this series, and I think you deserve to see the end of it. If I ever get my head straightened out around YKMMN, I may well come back and visit it again (I can hear deathcurse and Dracis Tran suggesting that I do it for NaNoWriMo next year!), but for now, we're moving on..._

_...well, but first, I've written up a little synopsis of the storyline, so you'll at least know what the heck you've been missing!_

~X X X~

**Synopsis of "You Know My Methods, Natsuki"**

_Following upon her discoveries in "Deep Waters, Natsuki," Natsuki Kuga had become aware of the fact that the men who killed her mother were members of a secret society, the Illuminated Order of the Obsidian Court. Fourteen years after that crime, the Obsidian Court appeared to be still in active existence. Whereas she'd previously seen those behind the murder as criminals in the underworld sense, the oft-referenced "criminal classes," it became clear to her that in fact she was dealing with a very different sort of person—those who moved in circles of political and financial power._

_Caution became Natsuki's byword._

_Fearing to make a blundering move that would ruin all her chances, Natsuki started gathering information on the six men and women whose names she'd found in John Smith's papers. It was slow, cautious work and the months rolled by—enough time for her to accompany Shizuru Viola on a number of cases (including one alluded to in the one-shot "Writer's Block"), and to learn that the culprit of "Deep Waters, Natsuki" had been convicted as an accessory to the Smith murder and sentenced to seven years' hard labor._

_January turned to February and February turned to March, and then at the end of the month one Nathaniel Crosby called on Shizuru, seeking help in freeing himself from a blackmailer's clutches. He showed blackmail notes which alluded to certain indiscretions committed at a particular address in Soho. Guiltily, Crosby confessed that this address was a house of assignation. While Crosby was not a married man, he was a banker, in a position of responsibility in a very dignified (and as some would say, uptight) profession. Public shame would ruin him. The blackmail payments were delivered by "dead drop," so the blackmailer could have been a man or a woman, but the notes did reveal their writer to be educated._

_Investigating the crime, Shizuru and Natsuki met the elegant Madame Julia, proprietress of the brothel, and a girl named Nao who was one of the staff (in the literal, rather than the wink-nudge sense) of the place. When questioned as to what she'd seen, Nao bantered with Shizuru and struck sparks off Natsuki. The heroines were unable to obtain any hard information, and none of the "ladies" or the staff at the house recalled anyone suspicious watching or asking about Crosby._

_Further investigations were cut short when Nathaniel Crosby was found gruesomely murdered. Naturally, Shizuru was upset, and sought to discover whom it was who'd killed her client. Chief Inspector Reito Kanzaki was amenable to her working on the case, but the dead man's brother was not. That brother turned out to be Duncan Crosby, one of the six members of the Obsidian Court Natsuki knew about, and she immediately wondered whether the secret society might be somehow involved in the crime._

_Nonetheless, Shizuru pressed on with the investigation, looking into both the blackmail case as well as the other aspects of Crosby's life. In the course of these investigations, she learned of certain financial irregularities at the bank, but then something even more shocking came to light to distract her: two other men who were regular clients of the brothel had died apparently natural deaths within the past month. Further investigation turned up that these dead men were also victims of the same blackmailer. Reito agreed with Shizuru that there was a strong suspicion that these deaths were also murders, based on evidence noted at the time but that was overlooked by doctors and/or family members but not by Shizuru. Crosby, apparently, was too on his guard to fall for the subtler techniques and had to be dealt with more violently and openly._

_Thus, Shizuru found herself faced with the inverse of the usual situation: instead of a blackmail victim ending their burden by murdering the blackmailer, it was the victims of a blackmailer who were apparently being murdered._

_With three examples of blackmail to consider rather than just one, Shizuru soon found out that Crosby was not, in fact, being blackmailed over his sexual indiscretions, but over his financial misdeeds, which he had undertaken on behalf of his brother. Natsuki immediately suspected that the Obsidian Court had some hand in the business, while Duncan Crosby stalled and blustered, telling Shizuru to keep out of matters which did not concern her. Nonetheless, Shizuru discovered that the reference in the blackmail notes to Nathaniel Crosby's "indiscretions" were due to the fact that he talked too much in pillow talk. Shizuru pressed on and discovered that Nao was the blackmailer. She, however, had by this time vanished from the brothel, having realized that she was suspected._

_Natsuki immediately set out after Nao, knowing that Nao might have information about the Obsidian Court. Using a clue that she'd held back from Shizuru, she found Nao and accused her of blackmail and murder. They fought, and Natsuki got the upper hand, but they were interrupted by Duncan Crosby. He had the same purpose as Natsuki, but also wanted to kill Nao, to keep any information about the Obsidian Court and his own activities from getting to the authorities (such as Nao might offer up as part of a plea for clemency if arrested)._

_Natsuki and Nao were saved, however, by the arrival of Madame Julia, who killed Crosby. Unfortunately for Natsuki, though, she then turned on her! In fact, it was Julia, not Nao, who was the killer, and that moreover she was Nao's mother as well. As a young prostitute, she had given up her child to an orphanage in hopes of giving her a better life, but Nao was not adopted and had then run away. Julia had taken the girl in to keep her safe, though had never revealed her identity for fear that Nao would hate her. Having become aware of Nao's blackmail activities, it was she who'd murdered the victims, terrified that the rich and powerful men would not tolerate the blackmail and attempt to hunt down and kill Nao instead._

_Shizuru then, in turn stepped in and saved Natsuki—while Natsuki had been chasing Nao, Shizuru had instead been hunting forJulia, since Shizuru had correctly deduced the identity of the killer (having discovered Nao's identity as Julia's daughter from a variety of small clues). Julia pled that they allow Nao to go free, saying that as long as she was going to hang for murder, she would confess to the blackmail as well. Natsuki, sympathizing with Nao's history because of her own past, added her voice to Julia's and won over Shizuru. Duncan Crosby's death was to be put down as another in the string of murders. Later, Nao told Natsuki what little she knew about the Obsidian Court, and how Duncan Crosby had been one of its inner circle, the so-called First District, who knew about its true criminal aims. Nao told Natsuki that she was leaving England, since the reach of the Obsidian Court was long, and who knew what Crosby might have communicated to others?_

_Unfortunately, Nao's prophecy came true, because Natsuki's involvement in the affair had brought her name to the attention of the First District, allowing them to connect it with their knowledge of her past and information they'd gained about someone making inquiries about their members. Natsuki Kuga, they decided, was too much of a potential problem to be left running around..._

~X X X~

**The Final Problem**

There were two of them, street roughs in ragged clothing and grimy caps. I'd been expecting something like this, but even so it was still unpleasant to have my hopes crushed and my fears come true in back-to-back encounters.

"So that's how it's going to be," I murmured, then. Suddenly, a chuckle seemed to well itself up from the depths of my throat, and I felt the lips draw back from my teeth in a wolflike grin. "Fine. I was getting bored waiting, anyway."

I'd been expecting it for some time, after all. For all the time I'd spent there during my nineteen years, the East End was not one of my favorite places, particularly the areas of Whitechapel and Spitalfields, choked as they were with the desperately poor, where the glimmerings of the human spirit were too often snuffed out by the brutality of real life. Jack the Ripper had galvanized London with fear a decade ago, but he was only the most visible of the monsters.

But in the shadows of fear and violence, the underworld thrived, and I had contacts, connections who provided me with information here, sometimes for money and sometimes in exchange for something else. This was the world I'd immersed myself in, developing my skills at fighting and firearms, house-breaking and dipping, the tools I'd thought I'd need for my revenge.

Fred Porlock was probably the most reliable of those contacts. I didn't just say that because he'd been the one to come up with the key breakthrough, the one that had finally put me on the trail after so many years. He was a professional at brokering information and goods, sometimes in the black market and sometimes just when legitimate buyers and sellers wanted to be discreet. His message had been terse, requesting a meeting because he had something I'd be interested in, and because it _was_ Porlock, I decided to answer.

I found him at his usual seat in a public house called the Drake, where laborers and layabouts clamored for drinks, along with streetwalkers spending their take on gin to give them the courage to go back out and earn more. He had balding hair and a prominent nose, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal powerful forearms capable of dealing quite a blow.

"Kuga! This is an unexpected surprise."

I arched an eyebrow at him.

"Surprise? You were the one who asked for this meeting. At least you didn't pick the Ten Bells this time. Okay, I'm a quarter-hour early, but that's not really a surprise."

The oval-faced man looked at me, gaze steady and the smile vanishing from his lips.

"I didn't ask for any meeting."

"I got your telegram, Porlock," I slapped it down on the table. "Don't play games."

"I'm not. Seriously, Kuga, since when do I ever send telegrams?"

I blinked.

Then I swore.

The answer to his question was, "since never." Porlock had always communicated with me by messenger boy or, very rarely, by post. The expense of a telegram wasn't his style at all. He didn't deal in anything urgent enough to justify it in his mind. It was probably justified to its actual sender, though. After all, a telegram meant that they saved the cost of a forger to copy Porlock's handwriting—if they even had a sample to work from. A telegram disguised the sender's hand, and its necessarily terse style meant that any giveaway errors in word choice could be avoided.

And I'd taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

_No, wait_, I thought. _If this is a trap, then why is Porlock here?_ But I knew the answer to that, too: the sender had picked one of Porlock's common haunts because the meeting place needed to be believable. Coincidentally, he actually _was_ here, but I only knew that because I'd come early—odds were, I wasn't meant to make it to the Drake at all.

"_Damn_ it!" I cursed. "Does this place have a back door?"

"Behind the bar, go through the door and there's a hall about five feet long. The door on the left is the storeroom; the one on the right leads to the alley."

I nodded.

"Thanks."

"Kuga, take care of yourself," he added seriously. "You need someone to watch your back?"

I shook my head, though I was touched by his offer.

"I'm used to keeping an eye out for myself, and it's not like I didn't come prepared." I opened my jacked to show the holstered revolvers concealed there. "But thanks, again."

The bartender stepped out into my path as I walked around to the end of the bar.

"And just where do you think you're going?" he barked.

"Out the back. Got a problem with that?"

I fixed the ginger-haired barman with what my acquaintances have dubbed the "Kuga Death Glare." Like most bystanders faced with it, he withered almost at once.

"N-no, go right ahead," he stammered, all but falling over himself in getting out of my way.

_Too bad it doesn't work as well on these two_, I thought as I faced down the two ambushers. I'd met them coming the wrong way from what they expected, but they'd overcome their surprise easily enough, and a dirty look wasn't going to make them vanish. It'd take a little more active form of persuasion.

The one nearest me, a beefy, red-faced fellow, lunged out of the shadows of the tenement. He whipped up his right hand, which gripped the butt of a heavy club. I stepped in quickly; at my size and weight getting to close quarters with a foe was rarely a good idea but his weapon gave him far too significant an edge in reach. His side was exposed by the raised club and I hit him quickly, twice, under the ribs. He grunted, and I tried for a lock on his right arm, using his moment of pain to my advantage to secure my grip and wrench the limb around. Using his arm as a fulcrum, I applied leverage to spin him in a circle and fling him towards the brick wall. He staggered, unable to stop his momentum, but did get his left hand up in time to absorb the impact with his forearm instead of his face. _Damn!_

I would have followed my attack up while the beefy thug was still off-balance, but his partner, a tall, lanky, rat-faced man, was already coming in towards my back. I mule-kicked, more on instinct than by plan, and felt my boot connect firmly with something soft and heard a pained yowl. I whipped around to face him, my right foot coming up in a brutal arc and got lucky again when I made contact with his elbow and heard the sharp crack of bone. He still had his knife in his other hand, though, an eight-inch blade that looked like it was meant for the swift evisceration of fish—but would do the same to a woman.

The first thug pushed himself off the wall and turned back to the fight, shaking his head to clear it. While Ratface had at least taken a serious injury, Beef-boy had only been momentarily shaken, and I was sure he was more offended than actually hurt. And, of course, they still had their weapons.

I'd bought a couple of seconds, though, and I used them. While my size meant that I was at a disadvantage in a melee, a gun didn't care if I weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds or twice than when I fired. In a long-practiced maneuver, I drew the pair of Smith & Wesson Safety Hammerless .32 revolvers from beneath my coat, pointing the muzzle of one at each thug. Of course, firing accurately at two separate targets was almost impossible, but we were at close enough range that I'd probably at least wing one of them, maybe both.

Besides, they probably didn't _know_ how accurately I could fire. British thugs tend not to carry firearms, and a gunslinger's abilities were something better known from dime novels than real-life experience.

"So how about we call it a day, boys, before anyone actually gets killed?"

They stared at me, weighing their options. Beef-boy's glare was hard and merciless, while Ratface's eyes all but gleamed with hatred and pain. These men had killed before, I was certain; they had the understanding of what death meant, the assumption that fights had permanent and fatal consequences. It was only a matter of whether they felt their position was worth the risk. We waited in that frozen moment, ready for one of us to make a move and decide how things would happen.

It was the filthy state of the streets in the East End that saved me. I heard the slight splash of a footfall behind me as a boot landed in something wet, and I reacted at once, lunging forward. I almost didn't make it; I felt a line of cold fire cross my back and I realized that I'd been slashed with a knife. My movement hadn't been controlled, and I went down to one knee, then as the original two attackers dove for me I went with my momentum and rolled forward, spun, and kicked Ratface in the knee; his leg buckled and he went down, opening up a firing line for me. I took it, snapping off a shot with my right-hand gun. It was badly aimed, since I was prone and in motion besides without time to properly target, but it took the man who'd cut me high in the left side of the chest and stopped his charge while he clutched helplessly at the wound.

I didn't wait around to fire again because I had other problems. I rolled through a reverse somersault, wincing as the muscles in my injured back stretched, and came to my feet as my boots hit the cobblestones. Beef-Boy had been swinging his club low towards where my head _had_ been, and instead he got the meat of my left thigh, hard. I winced, but since his arm was low I swung high, crashing the butt of my left-hand pistol into his face. His nose was flattened with a satisfying crunch, and I raked the barrel down his cheek, the front sight ripping open the flesh. He was tough, though, letting out a strangled bellow and lunging for me again with the club. I ducked under the wild swing, hooked his foot while getting my shoulder up under his arm, and sent him tumbling towards his alles. Ratface squealed as the big man's weight came down on him, probably onto his broken arm.

I ran for it.

Yeah, it may not have been the most heroic action, but then, I didn't have anything to gain by sticking it out. They were trying to kill me, not the other way around. The trill of a constable's police whistle (even in the East End, a gunshot attracts attention) let me know I was on the right track. I had no desire to spend the night explaining myself to the law, not when I had a group of very dangerous people after my neck.

The Obsidian Court.

From what I knew they were a secret society, one of dozens that pervaded our culture. Some were basically glorified social clubs for the nation's power elite, like the Freemasons; others were dedicated to the pursuit of mystical nonsense like the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn; and still more gave their members an excuse to wallow in vice—nothing like dressing up an old-fashioned orgy as "secret rites" to make it easier to swallow. The Obsidian Court was none of these. It was dedicated to the purpose of increasing the wealth and power of its members, and extortion, theft, espionage, and murder were just a few of its tactics. In essence, it was a criminal gang that happened to include financiers and professionals rather than the so-called "criminal classes."

My mother had been one of their victims.

I sprinted through a cross-street, barely more than an alley, and burst out the other end while slowing my pace to a brisk walk, the stride of someone with somewhere to go and no desire to wait around the streets of Whitechapel. A haggard-looking prostitute stepped out at me and made a reasonably inventive suggestion for someone so gin-soaked as to be unable to tell that someone wearing trousers wasn't necessarily a man (she might not have actually cared, business being business and all, but the particular nature of her suggestion implied that she thought I possessed a body part with which I was not equipped). I shrugged her off with a grunt and kept on going. I saw a cab up ahead, but ignored it and took another alley; there was no reason why a cabby would _wait_ for a fare in this part of town, so either he'd been paid by someone else and so was out of service, or he had another purpose. A purpose such as watching for a woman running away from three attackers.

Twisted, fearful thinking? Maybe. But I'd been lured here by someone who was familiar with my contacts and habits, and that meant someone capable of planning, preparing a second layer to his trap if I escaped the first. I waited until I was several blocks away before I even started looking for a cab, and managed to flag one down a couple of minutes later.

I was feeling a mixture of pleasure and annoyance as I trooped up the stairs to my rooms at 221B Baker Street. I felt good about having escaped the trap laid for me, and irritation for falling for it in the first place. Plus, I was worried. Thus far the attempts to kill me had all been designed to appear accidental—a runaway carriage, a falling piece of masonry, an unfortunate example of street crime in the city's worst slum. Things that could be written off to mischance and not traced to a deliberate attempt at murder. But for how long would that continue? They were already pushing the edges of that (Porlock, for example, knew that I'd been summoned under false pretenses). How long would it be before, for example, they called in some sharpshooter to put me in the ground from a couple of hundred yards off, secrecy be damned?

I hurt as I opened the door and went inside. The slash across my back burned, and my left thigh throbbed where the club had struck it, letting me know that I'd have a bad bruise. The rest of my body ached dully all over; the adrenaline rush of he fight and the excitement afterwards had worn off during the cab ride, and now I could feel everything. It was no surprise, then, that the kimono-clad woman sprawled out on the sofa should sit bolt upright at the sight of me and cry, "Natsuki, what happened?" with worry shining in her crimson eyes.

It was funny; red was supposed to be a dangerous and frightening color, and red eyes were common among vampires and werebeasts in Gothic horror novels, but Shizuru Viola's were among the kindest I'd ever known. It actually bothered me to put that look of worry on her face.

"A couple of friends decided to play rough." I shrugged out of my coat and turned to hang it up, which was a mistake.

"Natsuki, you're bleeding!"

I should have worn a waistcoat. The extra layer of padded cloth might have kept the would-be assassin's knife from cutting me at all, and even if it didn't the bloodstain would never have shown up on it the way it did on my white shirt.

"It's just a scratch."

"You don't know that; you can't even see it. And your clothes are filthy again; who knows what might have gotten into the cut? Let me take a look."

"Shizuru, you don't need to—"

"_Natsuki._"

There was no arguing with that tone. While she got up and gathered the basin and a washcloth, then went to the cupboard where she kept first-aid supplies, I removed my collar and unbuttoned the shirt, shedding the garment.

"_Ara_, that is a very pretty camisole Natsuki is wearing," Shizuru teased. I blushed; the satin-and-lace confection was not exactly what a casual acquaintance might expect me to wear under my clothes, but...damn it, I _liked_ to wear pretty and feminine clothes. It's just that they weren't practical for the things I did most of the time. Plus, there was the fact that I'd skipped out on years' worth of etiquette and deportment classes, so the kind of dresses I sometimes dreamed of wearing would suit me about as well as they'd suit a pig. Nice lingerie, though, well, I could enjoy under a ball gown or cowboy-styled blue jeans equally.

I tugged it off and threw it aside. Between the slash made by the knife and the bloodstain that would take more scrubbing than the fabric could stand to wash out, the camisole was likely ruined anyway.

"Lay down on the couch please," Shizuru said, and I did, after taking my boots off.

"All right, get to it," I grumbled, still a little uncomfortable. Shizuru set her materials down on the coffee table and knelt between it and the couch. She brushed her fingertips lightly against my bare back, not directly touching the cut but next to it. I shivered at the contact, which was as soft against my flesh as the whisper of the camisole I'd just removed.

"This is a knife wound," she said tenderly and with a faint thread of something else, like she was offended someone had done this to me, or maybe that I'd allowed it to be done. I wasn't sure which, and Shizuru talked about her emotions almost as often as I discussed my past, which was to say, never.

"I said they played rough," I replied, a little defensively.

"If Natsuki was a cat I should say she had used up one of her nine lives."

"It's not that bad," I protested. "If it was anything more than a glorified scratch I'd have felt it."

"Nevertheless Natsuki will likely have another interesting scar. You seem to have been quite careless with yourself in the past," Shizuru chided. She lightly touched a scar on my upper right shoulder blade that I'd picked up in a fight three years ago, then trailed her hand down to a larger, curving one from when I'd fallen off a building. It started on my right flank and flowed down, and Shizuru's fingertip traced it to where it disappeared beneath the waist of my jeans. "These are old," she said, still faintly chiding, "so I had hopes Natsuki was learning to better take care of herself, but now I wonder."

"You're in a strange mood tonight, Shizuru."

"_Ara_, is that so?"

I heard the soft splashes as she wet the washcloth in the basin, and then she began to clean the wound. I had to admit she did a better job of it than I could have, since she didn't have to crane her head over her shoulder to see what she was doing in a mirror, and I was glad to do this, since who knew what I might have rolled through while flopping around on the cobbles.

But still...she _was_ acting strange. Okay, stranger than usual, since Shizuru was always a little bit strange. This wasn't her normal strangeness, if such a phrase even made sense.

"There," she said, setting the cloth aside. I turned my head and saw it, bloodstained, over the rim of the basin. "Now, this may sting a bit."

She applied antiseptic next and I winced. It was funny, really, how I could take serious pain and keep going without hesitation but little things like this or a stubbed toe got blown out of proportion. Maybe it was because serious injuries usually accompanied serious matters, when there wasn't time to be indulgent. It was over soon enough, anyway, and she bandaged it up. When she slipped the bandage beneath me to put the wrapping around my body it almost felt like I was being embraced as she passed it from one hand to the other. I felt the whisper of her sleeves and bodice against my bare skin, the silk of her kimono almost caressing me under the pressure of her forearms. My breath caught in my throat as my nerves seemed to tremble.

"Natsuki, is something wrong?" Shizuru asked at once. "Did I hurt you?"

"N-no, I'm all right," I murmured. "It's just a little cold in here, that's all."

"Even in spring, Natsuki is still a summer child."

"I guess my mother knew what she was doing when she named me."

"Well, I'm done now, so you can get dressed." She moved, and I sat up, still feeling strange. I didn't really know how to explain it, the reactions I'd had, or even what those reactions had been.

The easiest answer was that I was still feeling the aftereffects of what had happened—the realization that I'd been lured into a trap, the desperate fight for my life, my flight from the East End, the exhilaration of knowing that they were getting serious enough in their attempts to kill me to try a directly murderous attack. The quick bursts of intense emotion, one after another, were enough to unsettle anyone.

"Is something wrong, Natsuki? You're looking at me very queerly."

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and put my thoughts back in order.

"I'm sorry; I guess I'm just a little on edge, still. Do we have any liniment? I've got a nasty bruise coming in on my leg, I think."

She nodded and handed me a small pot.

"Here you are."

I got up and handed towards my room. "I'm going to go get changed." With my hand on the knob, I stopped and looked back. "Thanks, Shizuru, for taking care of me. I don't say it often enough, but I really do appreciate having someplace, and someone, to come back to after a day like today. So, thank you."

I turned the knob and went into the bedroom, but just before I closed the door I heard, or thought I heard—it was so low that I could have imagined it—her speak.

"No, _ookini_, Natsuki, for everything."


	2. Chapter 2

I arose relatively early the following morning feeling surprisingly well-rested and refreshed. I hadn't stayed up particularly late after Shizuru had finished with my wound; even for me attempts on my life and fights to the death did pretty well round out the evening. The sleep had done me good, and even the cut on my back only stung when I turned or moved in certain ways that stretched the injured area.

_She did a good job_, I reflected, probably much better than I'd have managed on my own. I felt bad about it, making her pick up after me like that; this wasn't her fight and I didn't want to bring my troubles home to her.

I knew that was a funny thing to say, given the number of times I'd been out on one of Shizuru's cases and found myself in a fistfight with a desperate criminal or firing a revolver shot through the crown of someone's hat. But those weren't really Shizuru's troubles—not personally, at least. That was her _professional_ business, the problems belonging to her clients. Her _personal_ life, on the other hand...that I'd barely interacted with at all. It certainly hadn't brought her staggering, bloodied, back to me.

She didn't bring that sort of problem home to me, and it bothered me that I was doing the same to her. Plus, now—and I had to face this truth head-on—my troubles had escalated. The Obsidian Court had decided that I had to die, and were making more and more direct attempts. Last night I'd worried about a sharpshooter with a rifle or, if they wanted to get exotic and avoid noise, an air-gun. This morning, though, I was worried about a different kind of escalation. It wasn't that long, after all, since the outrages of the Dynamiters, and a bomb didn't require precision. And who would suspect that I'd even been the target? Some criminal, or a gang, out to dispose of Shizuru Viola for revenge's sake and just happened go get her friend and fellow-lodger instead.

_Or too_.

The fact that I was writing the scenario in my head was a bad sign. I had no doubt that the kind of people behind the Court's attempts on my life could think of such things more easily and naturally than me. Which meant they'd already thought of it.

It surprised me when I realized it, that the thought of Shizuru being hurt or killed by my enemies worried me more than the idea of dying myself or leaving my vengeance unfinished. It didn't feel right, that I would think that way, like I was betraying my mother's memory somehow, the entire course of my life to that point.

My emotions were confusing, out of control, and the blunt truth of it was emotion of any kind was the last thing I needed now. I'd come too far along this road to turn back; there were only two possible outcomes. Either I brought down the Obsidian Court, or they put an end to the threat I posed by killing me. I didn't know when the next attempt would come or what form it would take; all I could do was stay on my guard and try to push things forward.

I clambered out of bed, poured water into the washbasin from the jug, and splashed some on my face, hoping that it would clear my head. It helped a little, so I set about doing the best I could to get ready for the day, emerging from the bathroom dressed in shirt, trousers, and a dark blue vest. My derringer was in one of my vest pockets, and I had a knife tucked into one boot-top. These things weren't necessarily unusual for me, but that I thought to be armed even before taking breakfast was.

"Good morning, Natsuki," Shizuru greeted me. She sat at the table wearing a violet dressing-gown, contemplating an array of silver trays. From the steam rising from the coffee urn, Mrs. Hudson must have brought up breakfast no more than five minutes past. That Shizuru was awake already didn't surprise me—I'm positive that she sleeps sometime, but I can't necessarily confirm it. I suspect that it's all the tea. That she was helping herself to food did.

"That's a large breakfast for you, Shizuru," I noted. "If Mrs. Hudson sees that, she'll take you for a changeling."

"They say that a good meal is an antidote for pawky humor," she replied with her usual smile. "May I recommend the eggs?"

"Seriously, what's the occasion? Your usual breakfast options are the Continental or none at all."

"Natsuki is always saying that I should eat more and take better care of myself," she said innocently. "Am I to be faulted for taking her advice?"

"Faulted, no. Believed, not that either. It's like watching Dracula crawl in through your window; a normal person would stop and stare for a while before she reaches for the garlic and crucifixes."

"_Ara_, so Natsuki is afraid that I will bite her on the neck when I have finished with the sausages?"

I sighed and surrendered. No one wins a battle of wits with a teasing Shizuru, or at least I never did. Instead I sat down at the table and began loading up my plate, then poured myself a cup of coffee. I held the cup just below my lips and inhaled the scent of the dark, rich brew.

Shizuru giggled. "Natsuki looks lost in a world of bliss."

"Hey, I gave up cigarettes. Coffee is the last addictive pleasure I have left!"

"I would not think of asking Natsuki to give up coffee. I've learned from watching my father resist my mother's ongoing efforts to have him abandon his daily _cafe latte_ in favor of tea."

"Wise move," I said. "Even a true love which stands above duty to country and family isn't a rival for that first cup of coffee in the morning."

I suited my actions to my words by taking a deep draft, savoring the taste of the liquid as it slid across my tongue.

"Oh? And who is this true love Natsuki talks about?"

I sputtered, barely avoiding spraying coffee all over the table.

"S-Shizuru! I meant your parents, not me!" I stammered, dabbing at my lips with a napkin.

"Oh, then Natsuki was not injured last night dueling over a gentleman's favors?"

"What the hell would I want with a man?" I snapped. _Like my life isn't complicated enough already?_ Not that I even knew any man that I could imagine starting a romance with. Even the idea of it left me cold.

"A beautiful woman like Natsuki should have any number of princes on white horses lined up for her," Shizuru continued.

"Can you see me as a princess? All dressed up like an iced cake in one of those frilly, overdone Court gowns?" I snorted. "Please, I'd rather have the horse than the prince. At least _it_ might be useful."

Shizuru laughed lightly, no doubt at the image of me as a sleeping princess being kissed by a horse or something equally ridiculous.

"Well, if you put it so forcefully, then I have no choice but to accept it."

"Idiot. You're in a mood today."

"Perhaps it's the lack of sun. Would you like me to raise the blinds?"

"No, that's okay. If it's sunny out I'm still to sleepy to deal with full daylight stabbing into my eyes, and if it's not then what's the point anyway?" I was actually thinking of cover; a gunman couldn't snipe what he couldn't see. Not that I was the type of person who sat with her back to windows anyway, but my level of caution had gone sharply up. I took another drink of coffee, this one a little more of a sip than a swig, and reached for the food. Unlike Shizuru, I actually enjoyed eating. One of the lessons I'd learned in my misspent youth was that food and rest were both valuable resources and that if the opportunity came for either one I should take it.

That was advice that had come from people who were usually in much more desperate situations than I could imagine, coming as I did from a background with a stable income and a roof over my head, but in the present circumstances I was definitely appreciating it.

"Are you planning on going out again today, Natsuki?" Shizuru asked.

"I'm not sure," I answered. "I've got a couple of errands to run"—or in other words, people I could try to prod for more information about the Illuminated Order of the Obsidian Court—"but I could put them off"—mainly because I was tapping the bottom of the barrel with my contacts as it was.

It was mostly a question of scale—of fields of influence. Plain and simple, the people I knew were underworld types, informants in the criminal sphere. The Obsidian Court _used_ criminals, but their upper membership, their leaders, were people of wealth and position, from upper-middle-class professionals to gentry, titled nobility, and political power-brokers. They operated in the halls of political and financial power, though theft, extortion, violence, and murder were tools they freely wielded.

I didn't give a damn about the tools. You can't take vengeance on a gun or a knife. I wanted the ones who gave the order, the person or persons who decided my mother had to die. But very few of my contacts knew the right people, traveled in the right circles to ferret out what I needed to know: the identities of the Obsidian Court's inner circle, what it called its First District, and the men or women who ran it.

Part of the reason I'd ended up with my life at risk was because I'd pushed too hard in the wrong places, learning nothing and giving myself away. The better strategy would be to wait and let my qualified sources of information, people like Porlock, get me something that I could work with. I just didn't know if I could afford to be that passive, under the circumstances—and yet on the other hand, wasn't charging off in the wrong direction an even worse idea?

The jangling of the bell downstairs broke me out of my spiraling thoughts.

"Well, then, perhaps this will clarify matters for you," Shizuru brightened.

"You think it's for me?"

She shook her head.

"I think it is a case. You probably did not hear, but a carriage just pulled up to the curb a moment ago, and our caller must have veritably leapt from it and sprinted to the door in order to ring the bell in such a short space of time. When you combine that with the sheer violence used in ringing the bell, then I think we can take it as given that our caller is here to see me."

"Those are the usual symptoms," I agreed. And indeed, moments later Mrs. Hudson showed into our rooms a woman in her late thirties, of stout build and rather severe face that was shocked out of what I suspected was its usual stern and disapproving mein by fear. I had her down as a schoolteacher, and as it turned out I was not far off.

"Miss Viola?" she burst out.

"I am Shizuru Viola. Please, sit down and tell me what is the matter."

"Oh, there's no time for that! You have to come quickly, before those horrible policemen take my lady away! They think that she killed him!"

"Please, try to calm yourself. You will do no good for your employer if you cannot communicate clearly. _Breathe._" She rose and went to the woman's side, urging her to sit down, for the caller was literally shaking with her excitement, clearly bordering on hysteria.

I'd probably have just slapped her to clear her senses, but that wasn't Shizuru's way of doing things. Indeed, in a few moments she'd gotten the woman gentled and soothed into a state of, if not calm, at least coherence.

"My name is Emmaline Gartner," she began, "and I am the governess to the children of the Baron and Baroness Maupertuis, of Claremont Court, Mayfair."

I was thankful that Shizuru was facing the other way at that moment, because I couldn't keep the shock and surprise off my face. The name of Baron Maupertuis was known to me as one of my first leads to the Obsidian Court! Not only that, but I had a strong suspicion that he was a member of the First District, someone of power and influence within the society. I'd amassed quite a bit of information about him over these past several months, from his origins in Provence to his activities as a director of the Netherland-Sumatra Company and how he'd managed to disassociate himself from it before its ruinous collapse in 1897. And now he'd been murdered!

"It is the Baroness, then, who wishes to retain me?" Shizuru asked.

"Yes, Miss Viola. My lady...my lady...oh, it's a dreadful calumny, it is! Those awful men were questioning her, and her consumed by grief, but they kept on at it. They would not take no for an answer, forced her to answer their questions. That terrible Inspector Barrington..."

"Barrington?" Shizuru's eyebrows rose. "Scotland Yard sent Inspector Barrington to investigate the murder of a titled gentleman with an address off Park Lane? I can only imagine he was the only man awake at the station."

"Not up to fancy work among the toffs?" I spoke up for the first time. I'd met a number of Scotland Yard officers while living with Shizuru but didn't recall the name.

"Imagine, if you will, a man with all of Haruka Armitage's delicate subtlety and none of her intellect and social knowledge. He rather resembles a bulldog in looks and behavior both. You are quite right to be worried, Miss Gartner. I will come at once." She looked back at me. "I would be glad of your company, Natsuki, since I know you have no fixed plans for the day."

Ordinarily, I'd have turned her down—the last thing I needed was to be caught up in one of Shizuru's cases while I was busy navigating my own. Still—Maupertuis! Fortune had handed me an opportunity to push my own agenda while helping my friend. I couldn't help but be reminded, besides, of the fact that it had indirectly been through Shizuru, in connection with the Trepoff and Crosby cases, that I was able to make the most significant breakthroughs I thus far had in investigating the Obsidian Court. Now, a third time, and it almost felt like Fate was saying that I was destined to be by her side when I found the truth.

Melodramatic nonsense, probably, but even so the facts were on my side as well as emotions.

"Of course," I said. "Do I need anything?"

"Just your revolvers, I suspect. Tackling one of Inspector Barrington's fixed ideas is quite reminiscent of assaulting a military earthworks and often requires much the same equipment."

Though I dismissed the statement as merely being more of Shizuru's unusual sense of humor, I did take my jacket with its sewn-in holsters, tailored to make it significantly less obvious that I was armed. A brougham was waiting downstairs for us, no doubt from the Maupertuis stables, and we climbed in with our caller. The driver snapped his whip and set off at a pace I'd expect from a cabby promised a sovereign's tip. I wonder if the driver shared Miss Gartner's affection towards and fear for the Baroness.

"Now that we are underway, and as our driver seems intent on returning to Claremont Court before the worst happens," Shizuru addressed the governess, "perhaps you would acquaint us with the pertinent facts?"

Miss Gartner took a deep breath and appeared to gather herself. The mere fact that we were underway at last in accordance with her wishes seemed to lend her composure, for her features soon settled in to the stern expression that I'd expected of her.

"The crime was committed last night. The Baron had retired to his study around eleven-thirty—"

"How did you know this?"

"My lady said so," Miss Gartner returned at once, as if this pronouncement was as secure as Holy Writ. "She and her husband customarily took a nightcap together in the late evening, after which she would retire to her bedroom and he would often stay awake until two or three in the morning, usually in his study or the library."

"I see. Please go on."

"There is little else to say. My lady woke the next morning. Generally she says good morning to the Baron in his bedroom before descending for breakfast, but he was not there. She went to the study and found the door locked. She knocked, and when there was no answer she opened the door to find the master lying on the floor. She rushed to his side and discovered that he was dead! Dr. Arbuthnot was summoned, and he discovered that the Baron had been stabbed in the back. The police had to be sent for then," she added with a sniff, "and all they could do was to browbeat my lady!"

"So you believe Inspector Barrington thinks that the Baroness stabbed her husband in the back, locked the door to keep the body from being found before morning, and then calmly went to bed?" Shizuru asked.

"It is utterly absurd! No one who knows my lady could possibly believe that!"

"Has the Inspector actually accused her?"

"Not in words, as yet, but it is the only explanation, not only for cruelly browbeating my lady with questions after the horrible shock she has had, but in the direction of some of those questions. The Baroness, I am sure, thought so as well, for she sent me to bring you, Miss Viola, as the police appear to be concentrating their efforts entirely on her while ignoring any other possibility!"

"Well, we shall have to see what we can do."

"Hopefully this Barrington fellow hasn't stomped around in his size twelves, destroying all the evidence," I groused.

"Size fourteen, in fact," Shizuru noted. "Now, Miss Gartner, would you mind answering a few questions yourself?"

"I will do anything I can to help my lady and bring the master's murderer to heel."

Which, I noticed, wasn't _quite_ an answer to Shizuru's question. I couldn't help but wonder where her passionate devotion came from, and whether it was to the Baroness personally, or given to the children in her charge and their family by proxy—a hatchetlike face didn't have to mean a matching personality.

"Very well. You say the study door was locked. I presume that you do not mean that the key was on the outside of the door?"

"No, certainly not."

That was good; if the dead Baron had been locked in from the house side I'd have had to start agreeing with Barrington.

"Then how did the Baroness enter the room? I presume from how you told the story that she unlocked the door rather than had the servants force it in."

"Quite right. The Baron possessed master keys to all the locks in the house, which he kept in his bedroom in case of fire or other emergency. The Baroness retrieved those."

"Were you a witness to any of this?"

"No, miss. I took my breakfast in the kitchens and then began the children's morning lessons. It was only when my lady discovered that the master was dead that the house was put into an uproar. I know these things from my lady's statements to the police."

"I see. Now, would you consider that the Baron and Baroness were on good terms with one another?"

"Of course!" If anything, she managed to draw herself up even more stiffly.

"There were no recent arguments then, no quarrels?"

"Certainly not! I do not know what you are trying to imply, but I find it highly inappropriate for you, who is supposed to be proving my lady's innocence, to be asking such questions."

"Miss Gartner, if the Baroness Maupertuis had an apparent motive to want her husband dead, then you can be sure that the police will hear of it and use it against her. It does no good to ask me to find the truth and then try only to give me such facts as support your desired outcome. How can I build a defense to attacks which I do not know are coming?"

"Not to mention, the more you hide things, the guiltier it makes you look," I said bluntly. "Policemen are like dogs; if you start running then they'll chase on general principles."

"Natsuki puts it somewhat less politely than I would, but her simile is apt."

Miss Gartner looked from Shizuru to me and back to Shizuru again, as if her crimson stare had a magnetic force on the governess. At last, her shoulders slumped.

"Baron Maupertuis had a mistress," she confessed, "an actress named Robin Grayle. He had several rows with my lady over the past month over her."

"The Baroness was offended at the adultery?"

"No; I believe that it was not that the Baron had a mistress but rather that she was too expensive to maintain."

"So it was fine for him to sleep around so long as he kept it under budget?" I yelped. "The French are strange."

"Such arrangements are hardly unknown among English nobility," Shizuru chided, "particularly when marriages are contracted for the sake of status, politics, or property. The only part of the matter which may seem 'foreign' is the fact that the couple would openly acknowledge it to one another." Clearly I still looked incredulous because she added, "In feudal Japan, for example, it was the wife's responsibility to manage the household expenses, which among other things would mean that a samurai's wife would pay the bills for his trips to the pleasure quarter right along with his other expenses."

I folded my arms across my chest.

"Well, call me provincial, Shizuru, but there is no way that I'd stand for that. If my lover or spouse was cheating on me, the only question would be whether I'd kick their arse or just shoot them."

Shizuru did something that surprised me, then. She turned to me and smiled. Not the fake smile, the sometimes-serene, sometimes-amused one that almost never leaves her lips, but the real one, the one that left no doubt that she was truly happy with something. I couldn't recall _ever_ seeing it in front of a client before; it just...wasn't Shizuru to be so unguarded in public.

It was _strange_.

In the next moment, it was gone, and the carriage was slowing to a stop before the gate to a stately townhouse.

"While I am happy to hear that, Natsuki," Shizuru said, "let us just hope we can show that the Baroness did not subscribe to your principle."

~X X X~

_A/N: The "Dynamiters" Natsuki references were Irish terrorists who, well, used dynamite in their bombings during the late 1800s._


	3. Chapter 3

Obsidian Court assassins did not leap out at me from behind the shrubbery, which I had to consider a step in the right direction. Then again, it hardly seemed likely that they would attempt a public assault in _Mayfair_, of all places, the home of the city's titled and elite. Of course, that hadn't protected Baron Maupertuis.

In the next instant, my heart stuck in my throat. Exactly what evidence did I have that the Baron was dead at all? What if this was a trap, baited with Maupertuis's name, to lure me into walking onto the killing ground like a lamb to slaughter? What if Shizuru was nothing more than collateral damage to them?

She glanced at me, obviously noticing my sudden tension, as Miss Gartner led us to the front door. When the door opened, I let out my breath with a sigh of relief to see a uniformed constable in the foyer.

"Is her ladyship still in the drawing room, William?" Miss Gartner asked the footman who'd admitted us.

"Yes, Miss Gartner. Dr. Arbuthnot is with her."

"Excellent; I have questions for him as well," Shizuru said.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," the constable interrupted, touching the brim of his helmet to us, "but if you're Miss Viola, the Inspector asked that you be brought to him as soon as you arrived."

"Oh?"

"The impertinence!" huffed the governess.

"Very well, Constable. Please take us to him." She turned to Miss Gartner. "Perhaps you should let Baroness Maupertuis know that we are here and that we will want to speak with her and the doctor both?"

Miss Gartner hesitated a bit, probably because she wanted to give Barrington a piece of her mind for what she considered this latest affront, but went along with Shizuru.

"I'll do that, Miss Viola," she said with a nod.

"The Inspector is at the crime scene," the constable said. "I'll show you there."

He led us through the richly furnished home to a short hallway at the rear of the building on the ground floor. I noticed a flight of stairs going up from one end of the hall, which I figured led to the bedrooms upstairs. That quick access would make it convenient for a man who liked to work late. The study door was about halfway down the hall; the constable knocked twice.

"Come in," a familiar voice responded.

The bobby swung open the door.

"I've brought Miss Viola like you requested, sir."

"Thank you, Perkins; you may return to your post."

Definitely familiar.

"Reito, this is a surprise," Shizuru said brightly. "And Sergeant Tate," she added politely to the second man in the room, who had an unruly shock of carroty-red hair, a long, horselike face framed by muttonchops, and a dour expression. "Miss Gartner led us to believe that Inspector Barrington had charge of this case."

Chief Inspector Reito Kanzaki smiled at us, showing his fine, even white teeth. Kanzaki was like a carnival fortuneteller's prediction: tall, dark and handsome, with the barest hint of a curl in his hair and a clean-shaven face. He wore an immaculate dark suit and a silver watch-chain glinted in the sunlight from the window.

"The Chief Superintendant seemed to feel that perhaps a different investigative approach was called for owing to the delicacy of the circumstances."

Or in other words, when the high muckety-mucks noticed that they'd sent a bullheaded buffoon to deal with a titled noble's murder they immediately corrected that mistake. Shizuru considered Kanzaki one of Scotland Yard's two best investigators, and he certainly had plenty of tact and polish.

"I cannot deny the wisdom of such an approach," Shizuru said.

"Now, now, Barrington is a good man. It's merely that he's at his best when dealing with the criminal underworld; he knows their tricks and won't be fooled by them. He simply lacks such experience with such high society."

"Whereas you're an ornament to any drawing room, huh, Kanzaki?" I chimed in.

"But of course, Miss Kuga," he replied without batting an eyelash.

Truth be told, I didn't like Kanzaki. It wasn't anything in specific; he just came off to me as oily. Our first encounter had been on the Vamberry case, where he'd called in Shizuru, then taken all the credit. While Shizuru hadn't batted an eyelash on the grounds that she was a paid consultant and those were the terms of the arrangement—and Kanzaki always paid her bills promptly and in full—that first weaselly impression had left a bad taste in my mouth.

Maybe it was just that in a lot of ways, the tact, the charm, the deft use of humor, the keen wits, the smile that revealed nothing, he was like a male version of Shizuru. That was just too weird for words.

He certainly didn't win any points with me with what he said next, either.

"In any case, Shizuru, I'm going to have to ask that you drop this matter."

We were both surprised by that.

"Reito?"

"What the hell?"

"This murder...it's a politically sensitive affair," he said. "That was made very plain to me when I was summoned and sent to take over this case. Baron Maupertuis was an important man and had important friends, friends who would use their influence in order to quash a scandal, or any hint of one."

"_Ara_, and am I now scandalous?"

"You're an independent agent," Kanzaki said. "That means that it's very difficult to bring pressure on you or to guarantee your discretion."

"Oh, please," I said with a disbelieving snort. "You know very well how many secrets Shizuru knows and doesn't tell anyone. Like, for example, how she's solved about half of the high-profile cases that have you on the fast track to superintendant? She holds her secrets better than a dragon keeps his hoard."

"Miss Kuga—"

"Reito," Shizuru interrupted, "I cannot just abandon this case. I have been hired by the Baroness to represent her interests in the matter, which are certainly serious."

I had to agree that not being hanged was a serious interest.

"Not yet," Kanzaki countered.

"Oh?"

"You haven't so much as met your client yet."

"Was that why you wanted to be sure I spoke to you before I saw the Baroness? You wanted to warn me off before I had an opportunity to formally accept the case?"

Even Tate looked surprised at that deduction. Clearly he wasn't in on Kanzaki's little plots any more than I was in on Shizuru's. Like I said, it was weird.

"Precisely. You cannot dishonor a contract that hasn't been accepted."

"_Ara, ara_, but surely my coming here with Miss Gartner goes past that point already. _I_ certainly feel as if I have been hired. And you would have me turn away a distraught woman, who is desperately afraid that her mistress shall be charged with murder?"

"This isn't Barrington investigating this case any more," the Inspector shot back. "You know that I won't be misled by easy answers or accuse your client without solid evidence."

"But I could hardly retire from the case without at least seeing for myself what the evidence is, and assuring myself that the Baroness is either safe or justly accused."

Her replies were coming in a smooth and placid tone of voice, her smile not wavering, but they also came quickly, rapid-fire on the heels of Kanzaki's attempts to dissuade her, conversational ripostes that made me understand how diplomatic talks could be described as fencing with words. From Kanzaki's point of view it must have been as if he was meeting a wall of verbal steel, flawless and impenetrable, because he was the first to give way to frustration and emotion. His shoulders sagged and his face, which had gone from polished smile to a fixed expression of official seriousness, lost its artifice altogether.

"For God's sake, Shizuru!" He smacked his fist against his thigh in a sudden, savage outburst of frustration. "I'm not talking to you as a Chief Inspector protecting the political interests of his superiors. This is Reito Kanzaki warning Shizuru Viola, as a friend. There are dangerous undercurrents here, whispers that this man's murder could trigger serious upheavals in the corridors of power. I don't want to see you pulled down by those currents."

To me, Kanzaki's emotion—the first time I'd seen any real feeling coming from him—was less important than the content of what he'd said. It couldn't be coincidence, given what I knew about the Baron; the political pressures being brought to bear _had_ to stem from the Obsidian Court. There was now no doubt in my mind that he was one of the First District, high up in the order. Just maybe, too, this murder represented an opportunity for me. With the chaos inevitably caused by a big upheaval, maybe I had a chance to slip in and take advantage while the Obsidian Court was sorting out their ranks.

And just maybe, if Shizuru kept working on the case, I'd get the opportunity to learn where that chance lay.

What I didn't know was how to convince her to do that, what would make her want to keep on. As it happened, though, I didn't need to say anything.

"_Ookini_, Reito," she told him gently. "Really, thank you for caring, but I cannot go along with your request. I am a consulting detective, and just because I am a private one rather than part of the official force does not mean that I will shirk from a case because it could be dangerous. I have dealt with both physical and political dangers in the past as well, you know, as is the nature of what we do. After all, I do not see you hesitating over your duty to take command of this case. And besides," she added brightly, flashing him a smile, "if I allowed myself to be driven off a case by personal fear, how could I ever face Inspector Armitage again?"

Kanzaki gave in with what even I had to admit was good grace, even going so far as to chuckle wryly.

"Yes, well, I can hardly argue with that last point now, can I? All right, Shizuru, just...please try to be careful not to step on any toes that you don't have to."

"I'm an excellent dancer, Reito, as you know."

The image of Shizuru waltzing with Kanzaki in some ballroom made my gorge rise, and I spoke up to clear my head.

"Does anyone else think it's kind of creepy that we've had this conversation while there's a corpse lying on his face over there?"

It had been a mistake, though, because talking about corpses and murder caused by emotions to do a complete _volte-face_. A minute ago I'd been trying to think of ways to try and get Shizuru to press on with investigating Baron Maupertuis's death, to help me learn more about the inner workings of the First District. Now I was sharply reminded of what the possible consequences of that investigation could be and my gut clenched at the risk Shizuru was taking.

_How could I have thought of asking her to continue?_ I thought. True, I hadn't opened my mouth, but I would have, had she not settled it for me.

I suppose there was nothing like a few attempts on a woman's life to make her feelings...complicated.

"You have a good point, Natsuki and now that Reito and I have shared our respective positions on the surrounding circumstances, I think it is time we give the late Baron the full attention he deserves."

"Aren't you going to talk to the Baroness?"

"Later, I think. An examination of the crime scene will give me a better idea of what questions I need to ask."

Baron Maupertuis's study was papered in red and obviously meant more for his own personal use than for entertaining guests and holding meetings. There was only one chair, that behind a large writing-desk, and the remainder of the furniture consisted of cases with reference books, file cabinets, an occasional table by the door, and a sideboard from which crystal glinted. Three gas-jets would provide substantial lighting, a good thing since the two windows were eastward-facing and in any case the dead man liked to work at night from what Miss Gartner had said. The desk looked cluttered to me, with pen set, cigarette and cigar boxes, ashtray, paper-knife, as well as knickknacks and paperweights. Gold and brass were the predominant ornamental shades. Nothing in the room seemed to be disarranged or disturbed; there definitely weren't any signs of a violent struggle.

The dead man lay sprawled face-down on the floor, a little way away from the desk, clad in an elegantly cut dark suit. His hair was a mixture of blond and silver-gray but not thinning; indeed he wore it somewhat long as if to emphasize the fact. His head was turned to the side so I could see his face, but although it was slightly distorted from being pushed up against the carpet it held none of the frozen emotion one associates with violent death. That his eyes were closed helped; probably the doctor had shut them.

A slightly darker stain in the middle of the back marked what I assumed was the fatal injury.

"Did the doctor find that he was stabbed?" Shizuru asked.

Kanzaki nodded.

"According to Barrington's notes, Dr. Arbuthnot found a single stab wound...let's see..." He took out a leather-bound notebook from his pocket and extended a small sheaf of papers that looked to have been torn from a much cheaper record. He thumbed through then until he found what he wanted. "Here, it was 'from a symmetrical blade about three-quarters of an inch wide, which pierced the heart. Death would have been nearly instantaneous.' We'll have our police surgeon verify the finding, of course."

"And there was no sign of the weapon, which would seem to be something like a smallsword or, more likely, a double-edged dagger?"

"None."

"Hm. That suggests that either the killer took the weapon away with him or her or the Baroness removed it when she found the body, which would only make sense if she herself was the murderer or if she discovered that the weapon would somehow implicate her. This bloodstain isn't very big, though."

"It was a pretty small wound," I remarked.

"But the body was found lying face-up, if the Baroness is to be believed, or else it would not be the doctor who found that the Baron had been stabbed."

"Dr. Arbuthnot's statement did indicate that he found the body lying on its back," Kanzaki continued to demonstrate his familiarity with Barrington's work.

"Right about here, no doubt," Shizuru pointed to a patch of slightly darker red against the crimson-and-red carpet. "That is suggestive."

I didn't see what she was driving at.

"I presume the time of death was at night, or else Barrington would have arrested the Baroness on the spot?" she continued.

"Yes, around one o'clock, give or take an hour or so. If she did it, she did it last night."

"So. We can reconstruct the crime somewhat. The Baron was stabbed in the back, then fell forward, where he must have lain for some time. The killer then removed the weapon and turned the corpse onto its back. Thus the bloodstains are smaller than expected because it was draining in the opposite direction for a short period after death."

"I agree. Which begs the question, why was the body turned? To get at something on his front?"

"Very likely," Shizuru agreed. "Natsuki, please help me turn him back over."

We rolled the body onto his back and Shizuru began to go through his pockets. After extracting a handkerchief and an elaborate gold hunter with three fobs on is chain, though, she stopped.

"_Ara_, now that is interesting. His tie-pin is missing."

"Tie-pin?" I asked. "If it's missing, how do you know that he had one?"

"M. le Baron was a bit of a dandy, wouldn't you agree, Natsuki? There is the cut of his suit, the styling of his hair. He is wearing a diamond wedding ring on his left hand but also a large, square-cut sapphire on his right. In addition, his watch-chain is engraved and hung with three fobs. I cannot imagine such a man going without a stickpin in his tie; nor can I see him removing the tie-pin himself but not his other jewelry or changing out of his evening clothes. Those impressions are given weight by these few loose threads here, where the tie-pin would be." She pointed to the tie. "They're not easily seen, but when I deduced there _should_ be a tie-pin, I looked for them. Someone, more than likely the murderer, snatched out the Baron's tie-pin a bit roughly and the pin, or part of the work itself, clutched at threads as he or she pulled it out."

"That would explain why the killer rolled the body onto its back," Kanzaki deduced. "He had to get at the tie-pin and couldn't while the Baron was lying face-down."

"But why take it in the first place?" Tate spoke up. "It obviously wasn't robbery for gain," he put into words what the rest of us were already thinking.

"The first thing, I think, would be to learn what it was. The Baroness and the Baron's valet could tell us what he was wearing and between them would probably know everything possible about it, apart from any private secret the Baron kept to himself."

"So we go talk to her?" I asked.

Shizuru shook her head.

"No; let us finish here first. The carpet obviously retains no traces of the killer, particularly after not only Dr. Arbuthnot but also Inspector Barrington and his constables have been through here. I am interested in this matter of the locked door, however. Miss Gartner told me that the Baroness claims to have found the door locked and, upon receiving no response from within, opened it with the Baron's master keys."

"That tallies with Barrington's notes."

"So clearly the room key was not in the lock, and it wasn't in the Baron's pocket. Where is it?"

"Barrington says that it was lying on that occasional table by the door when he arrived; the Baroness and Dr. Arbuthnot claim not to have moved or touched it."

"I see." Shizuru rose and went over to the table. "Hm, typical of its type. Probably it would be impossible to raise finger-marks from the surface, given the design."

"I agree."

"In any case, this limits our possibilities. The door could not have been locked from the outside by reaching through the keyhole and turning the key with a tool, since the key was not in the lock or knocked onto the rug. The Baroness, or someone else with easy access to the Baron's room, could have locked it from the outside with the master. A duplicate key may have been used by an inmate of the house, or by an outsider who then exited the house by another route."

"An outsider? You mean, you think someone would have taken the trouble of entering the house, sneaking through the halls to here, committing murder, locking the door with a duplicate key—obtained in some unknown fashion—sneaking _back_ through the house, and leaving the way he came? For what possible purpose?" Kanzaki, clearly, was not believing this idea.

"Maybe to make it look like an inside job?" I said, then added sharply, "Since, as you might have heard, that was exactly what happened in the Vanderbilt case last fall." It was Shizuru who pointed out the flaw in that theory, though.

"The problem with that idea is, why would an outsider lock the door? If it had been left unlocked, then it would have looked more like a resident of the house was guilty, so that does not seem to be the purpose."

_At least it wasn't Kanzaki who got to say that,_ I thought. I didn't think I could take it if he was the one who cut down my theory.

"The other option is that an outsider locked the door, then left this room by another method," she finished.

"Except that the windows were closed and latched," Kanzaki noted.

"True, but not shuttered or barred. Those would likely be impossible to set from the outside, but not necessarily a latch."

She walked over to the window and looked at the latch thoughtfully. She then lifted one free and raised the sash. Cautiously, she rested the latch on the upper edge of the sash, positioning it deliberately.

"Natsuki, would you leave the room by this window and then close it from the outside?'

"You want me to crawl out the window?"

"Yes, please."

"Can't we make Tate do it?"

"I think Shizuru can get her own assistant to help carry out her experiments without borrowing mine."

It wasn't that much of a feat of acrobatics; it was the embarrassing and undignified pose that bothered me. With a sigh of resignation and cheeks no doubt flaming red because the one thing my penchant for trousers does is show off my hips and hind end in a way the high-sticklers would find shocking, I bent over and squirmed out the window. It was like performing the can-can for an audience of three.

"Now close the sash as smoothly as you can, then strike the frame when you have it shut," Shizuru said. Her tone of voice betrayed nothing, but I could see the hint of a smile in her eyes. My reaction had apparently amused her, as often seemed to be the case.

"Strike it?"

"Yes. Strike it a blow and jar it a bit."

"Okay."

I slid the sash down, then smacked the heel of my hand into the wood between a couple of the panes. There was a metallic click as the blow jarred the latch loose from where Shizuru had set it. I tried raising the window, but it didn't budge. Tate came over, lifted the latch, and opened the sash, considerably wider than Shizuru had since he wasn't playing games with keeping the tab of metal from slipping.

"And that, I think, explains that," said Shizuru.

"It explains one possibility," Kanzaki didn't quite follow.

"On the contrary, I think it is a certainty, not because of the window, but because of the locked door."

"The door?"

"Quite. You see, it explains the only reasonable purpose in locking the door. There is no point in locking it to isolate the body; it in no way caused discovery to be delayed. Finding a locked door when one was not supposed to be locked provoked the exact reaction one would expect: a knock and an inquiry, followed by concern at the Baron's silence. If there was another key, it would be fetched, as in this case it was. Otherwise, the door could be charged down by a couple of brawny footmen. And while locking the door seemed to create a locked-room mystery limiting the reasonable suspects to those in the household, they would have no _reason_ to lock the door after they left this room. No, there is only one reasonable explanation for the locked door: as a precaution against being disturbed after the crime while the murderer was still in the room."

"Ah, then, do you mean—"

"Precisely. The killer struck down the Baron, then locked the door. If someone came along and tried to get in, then the killer would have time to escape through the window before the door could be unlocked or forced. Since the killer never needed to use the door, there was no point in unlocking it again, so it remained locked until morning."

"Then how did the killer get inside in the first place?"

"Through the window, as well."

"I'm not sure, Shizuru," I said. "An unbarred window like this is easy enough for any competent burglar to _break_ in through, either stealthily or just by smashing a pane, but not to _sneak_ in through while a man was in the room, and kill him before he could so much as cry for help."

I caught it again, that touch in her eyes that changed her smile even though her lips didn't change their fixed curve.

"All right, what am I missing?"

"Only the fact that it was a warm spring night, meaning that our killer might well have found the window open to begin with. If the late Baron were seated at his desk, his back would face the other window, the one we did not use for our experiment. Indeed, that was why I did not use it, as there may be evidence I did not wish to disturb." She walked towards me and reached out, touching my hip. I almost flinched at the sudden, surprising contact, but she raised her gloved hand with a leaf and a bit of twig from the shrubbery. "It was caught on your belt-loop. The murderer may have had similar encounters. But...a thrown knife or a long thrust from a blade like a sword-cane's, through the open window, and the Baron would be easily killed without outcry or alarm." She shrugged. "We are of course entering the realm of speculation. The murderer might have as easily rapped on the pane and been admitted by Baron Maupertuis, under the excuse that it was necessary to meet him in secret so the caller could not use the door. Then, when the Baron turned his back...At this point we only have guesses, so there is no reason to air them without evidence."

Kanzaki rubbed his chin thoughtfully after listening to her speech.

"At the least, the obvious thing is to search outside. Barrington might or might not eventually have thought of it but he hadn't as yet. Finding anything will confirm your theory, not that I have any serious doubts about it at this point. I assume you'll want to see the shrubbery in person?"

"Eventually, yes, but I think I can trust you to keep the scene intact, Reito. Come, Natsuki; I believe we have kept our client waiting long enough."


	4. Chapter 4

A maid showed us the way to the drawing room, which showed the same tendency towards baroque, overdone décor as Maupertuis's study, although here white and gold were the predominant colors. Here we were reunited with Miss Gartner, who sat by the side of a woman in her late thirties or early forties, petite but curvaceous. Her hair was jetty black and her skin pale, but grief had outweighed vanity so that she was without the face-powder or lip-rouge that could have shaved a decade off her apparent age. She perched on a fragile-looking settee like a bird and a sandy-haired man with glasses and a small, pointed beard was saying something to her when we entered.

Miss Gartner and the man both came to her feet when we entered.

"My lady," the governess said, "may I present Miss Shizuru Viola and Miss Natsuki Kuga, who have come in answer to your summons. Miss Viola, Miss Kuga, this is Genevieve, Baroness Maupertuis, who is in such need of your services."

"Not so much any more," I noted.

"Pardon?" the Baroness said, stressing the second syllable as if speaking French.

"What Natsuki is saying is that we have spoken with Chief Inspector Kanzaki and I believe that we have managed to persuade him that the evidence does not support your guilt."

"Ah! I thought that Mr. Kanzaki looked more intelligent, more sympathetic to a woman's troubles than that oafish thug." She spoke with a slight accent that susceptible English gentlemen no doubt found charming.

"At the least, he is more open to accepting facts, even when they do not suit his pet theories. As I said, the facts were on your side, as an examination of your late husband's study quickly showed."

"Once you were there to point them out to him," I muttered under my breath.

"If you know that, then...then you must know what it was that happened to poor Theo," the Baroness urged.

"In part," Shizuru agreed. "I do have a question for you. Miss Gartner informed us that your husband often worked late in his study. Would he have a window open at such times?"

"Certainly, if the weather called for it."

"But the window was certainly closed this morning," the man spoke up for the first time.

"Dr. Arbuthnot, I presume?" Shizuru asked. At his nod, she continued, "It is quite possible to lower the sash and even to secure the latch from the outside; we've tested it. It appears that an outsider to the household was responsible for the murder; the difficulty will be in identifying whom."

"I see. Nonetheless, you lift a great weight from our minds, Miss Viola."

It seemed that the doctor shared the governess's opinion of the Baroness. Of course, given that the dead man was her husband, that opinion might well mean something more significant. Arbuthnot was, after all, an outsider, and would certainly know where to stab a man to pierce the heart with a thin blade. The murder had, after all, been neatly done, with what I thought of as, not entirely for the joke, surgical precision.

"I presume that you have questions for me, Miss Viola?" Baroness Maupertuis asked.

"I do. I would rather not trouble you in your grief, but it has to be done."

She shook her head.

"No, no, I quite understand. Besides, as I understand Miss Gartner has told you something of this, my grief is not that of a lover who has lost their heart's one true companion. Theo and I were fond of one another. Our marriage was a suitable arrangement for our families; we had largely separate lives that would intersect at the occasional social engagement. Our lives were comfortable, for the most part, and I will miss him, but I am not crushed by grief. My greatest shock is in having this happen here in my home, the horror and violence of it."

"That is very reasonable," Shizuru told her. "Although I spend my life investigating crime as a profession, it still makes me uncomfortable and upset when something brings violence into my own life."

_Wait, was she talking about me? About what happened last night?_

It could be. Closeness ran both ways, right? So just like Shizuru had steadily become part of my life, my concerns, maybe she had the same kind of thoughts about me?

Or maybe that had nothing to do with me at all. That was the problem with subtle people. She might have been talking to the Baroness but with a message for me, or she might just have been focusing on the case and I was writing the rest of it in my head.

"Please, Miss Viola, go on and ask your questions. I only hope that I can be of help in discovering the truth, now that it appears anyone cares to discover it."

"Now, it has been my experience that Inspector Barrington is always interested in finding justice and the truth."

"Which doesn't mean that he's good at it," I remarked.

"Natsuki..." Shizuru chided.

"I think Miss Kuga has the right of it," Miss Gartner sniffed.

"But in any case," the Baroness took command of the conversation again, "we must move past what is past." She gestured at Shizuru. "Ask your questions."

"Would there be any way of ascertaining if the window was open last night?"

"I doubt it. I did not visit him after our nightcap and he only rarely would summon a servant there for any reason."

"I see. We'll question them, of course, but I doubt they would have remarked it even if they were called. At the least, you've verified that it's a reasonable possibility that the window was open. Now, do you recall what tie-pin your husband was wearing last night?"

The Baroness blinked in surprise.

"His...tie-pin?"

"Yes. Do you remember it?"

"Of course. He only owned one that he wore with any frequency. The others he kept for such functions as when jewelry was absolutely dictated by fashion, but at all other times he wore only the one. It would have certainly been the one he wore last night. Why? Do you mean to say that it is missing—that my Theo's murderer took it?"

She sounded surprised, almost incredulous, and I didn't blame her. A tie-pin thieving murderer was not exactly an obvious idea, especially since this one _wasn't_ a piece of valuable jewelry. But then his rings and watch had been left as well, so it clearly wasn't a case of a burglar seeing an open window and seizing his chance.

"We believe so."

"But how curious. It wasn't even particularly valuable. Oh, it was gold, of course, so it was worth _something_, certainly. Yet I cannot see why anyone would particularly want it."

"Can you describe it for me?"

"Well, it was a seal, perhaps a centimeter or so high—half an inch, by your English measure?—in the shape of a triangle, with a single ball of obsidian, not even a precious stone, set in it just below the upper point. I believe it was the mark of a club or some such he belonged to, but I never really knew the details."

Her belief was right. The symbol was the mark of the Obsidian Court, although thus far I'd encountered the colors reversed, a gold dot on an obsidian triangle. I couldn't help but wonder if there was some significance to it, as if it meant some advanced rank like his position within the First District.

A better question was, if Maupertuis's murderer had stolen the emblem of the Obsidian Court off his body, then did that mean the killer had a personal issue with the order? That it was someone like me who'd suffered a loss at their hands and sought revenge? Or, more soberingly, that the Baron had somehow crossed the secret society and had paid the penalty? I knew all too well that the Obsidian Court would use murder for their own ends, and taking the tie-pin might indicate that the order had revoked their protection of the dead man for his misdeeds.

_Ally or enemy?_ I wondered. _Which is it?_

Either way, it certainly explained why Kanzaki's superiors had been so eager to get him on the case and impress him with the political stakes involved. The Obsidian Court's political and financial interests were deeply entrenched and no doubt extended to certain police authorities. They'd want their best detectives working on the case if the society had a foe, and if the killing was done by the order itself they'd want Kanzaki's subtlety keeping too much public attention from being drawn to the matter, whether they chose to quash prosecution later or throw a ready-made suspect in the inspector's path.

Regardless of which it was, there was something to be learned here. I just needed to keep my eyes open.

"If there's anything at all you can remember about this group, it would be very useful," Shizuru asked, obviously reaching the same conclusions that I was even without knowing specifically about the Obsidian Court. "The murderer stole the Baron's tie-pin, so it was evidently of some significance to him or her."

"I...I just don't know," Baroness Maupertuis fluttered helplessly. "I truly do want to help you, but I simply do not _know_ anything about Theo's private business affairs."

"His _business _affairs?" Shizuru pounced on the out-of-place word.

"Why, yes. Truthfully, he always talked of and treated the society not as any kind or social or...I suppose you would say spiritual? Like the Golden Dawn or the Theosophists?"

"I believe that I understand, your ladyship."

"Ah, good. I would say that Theo regarded this group as a set of business contacts, with whom he could work. I believe that he could command their loyalty to some extent, because I believe it was with their help, from some remarks he made at the time, that they were instrumental in his success with the Netherland-Sumatra Company."

"That would certainly explain a great deal about that affair," Shizuru mused. "I'd followed the newspaper accounts at the time and had always wondered at the timing of the collapse. If someone believed that there was insider knowledge used to manipulate the markets, it would certainly explain the reason for holding this organization, whatever its actual nature may be, responsible for the losses. Should that person have lost money, or been a relative of someone who did, revenge would not be unexpected."

"Miss Viola, my husband was an honorable man! I will not have you slandering his memory!"

"Forgive me, your ladyship," Shizuru poured oil on troubled waters. "I do note that it would not be necessary for Baron Maupertuis to be guilty of any actual wrongdoing, only that someone believe it to be so. A man bent on revenge could easily turn a fraternal order into a financial cabal in his own mind."

"Oh...yes, yes, of course. I do apologize. I should have better understood."

"Not at all. Under the circumstances, it is more than reasonable for you to be distraught."

"Thank you."

I managed to keep myself from showing my disgust openly. Knowing the Obsidian Court as I did, the theory that they'd acted as a "financial cabal" to manipulate prices, spread rumors, delay reporting of bad news, and otherwise swindling the investors out of every cent they could seemed damned likely.

"Do you know if anyone was making threats or accusations against the Baron?" Shizuru went on.

"No, no I do not, but...there is one thing..."

"Yes?"

She bit at her lip in an almost girlish mannerism that, surprisingly, did not seem out of place on her despite her age.

"It seems like nothing, but..."

"Please," Shizuru urged, "tell me. We can never be sure what might be important until everything is investigated."

"All right. It just seems so silly, is all. Theo had a friend, a gentleman named Robert Merridew, who was one of the guests at a small dinner party that we attended last week. When, as is your absurd English custom, the ladies were leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars, I saw Mr. Merridew draw Theo aside, and he had a very strange look on his face."

"Threatening?" I asked.

"No, the opposite, I think. It almost seemed as if Mr. Merridew was afraid of something."

"I see," Shizuru mused.

"I only mention is at all because Mr. Merridew is, I think, a fellow-member of Theo's in the society; they both have the same gold and obsidian pin—ah! Obsidian, that was the name. The Obsidian...ah! It was like a street address, I think. Obsidian Place? No...Obsidian Court. That is what they call themselves. Does that help?"

I didn't know if it helped Shizuru, but it definitely helped me. I hadn't known the name Merridew before, and if he wore the same pin as the Baron, then he was probably a fellow member of the First District's inner circle.

I wondered what it was that had scared him, and if so, whether Maupertuis's death would make him more afraid, or less.

~X X X~

We met up with Kanzaki not long after; Shizuru had little more to ask the Baroness and only waited to draw Dr. Arbuthnot aside for delicacy's sake before verifying the strictly medical details that Kanzaki had already told us.

"We found several places where the shrubbery was disturbed or broken by what could have been a body passing through it," Kanzaki said. "Unfortunately, there were no footprints in the soil; it appears that the killer took care to sleep only on the stone-flagged border. Nor did we find any conveniently torn clothing."

"The Baroness said that the Baron often had the window open on nights when the weather was suitable," Shizuru said. "Although a self-serving declaration, we cannot discount it."

"Not in light of the other evidence, no," Kanzaki agreed. "No one point is conclusive, but here we have many different circumstances which all indicate the same thing, and none which contradict. Honestly, while it isn't what a jury likes, I'd rather a case that way than a single, self-evident clue."

"I would as well. I am always too inclined to distrust the obvious indication." She smiled at me. "Natsuki would say that I like to overcomplicate things."

"It's just that the two of you have twisty, complicated minds and so you tend to think everybody else does, too. The average criminal just isn't that tricky."

"Which is why Barrington can be a successful policeman, because the law of averages will be in his favor most of the time." I couldn't be quite sure if Kanzaki meant that as a dig at me or not. "In any event, Shizuru, it now seems virtually certain that the murder was committed by an outsider, so you've succeeded in saving your client's neck from the rope."

She waved his congratulations off.

"It was never in any serious danger. A skilled barrister would have shattered the case handily, and once you replaced Inspector Barrington, Reito, it was highly unlikely that she would so much as face arrest. At most, all I did was speed the process."

"I suspect your client wouldn't be quite so cavalier about it."

"That's because she is concerned with the consequences to her, not how elementary the problem is. The difficult part will begin now."

"For Scotland Yard, at least."

"Why, Reito, whatever could you mean by that?"

"You said it yourself. You're here to represent the interests of the Baroness. You couldn't turn away while your client was in the shadow of the gallows. Well, she isn't any more. You've made sure of that. You've done your job and can retire from the field in good conscience."

"_Ara_, your superiors must have been extremely persuasive to have you in such a pother," she remarked, touching a fingertip to her lower lip.

"Let's just say that I shall be certain to hear about it at length if they find that a private agent has been stumbling over matters that they would prefer be left alone."

She pressed her hand over her heart. "I shall be discretion itself, as always."

"Shizuru—"

"No, Reito; I shall not abandon this case merely because the Obsidian Court deems it in their best interest."

"The Obsidian Court?" he said, stiffening. "Where did you hear that name?"

"From her ladyship. Baroness Maupertuis said that the missing tie-pin was the insignia of a fraternal order or society that her husband belonged to, called the Obsidian Court. The implications are intriguing, don't you think?"

He shook his head.

"Intriguing, no. Dangerous, more like."

"Oh? Is there something special about this particular group that has come to Scotland Yard's attention?"

"Rumors here and there," he murmured darkly, "that it's membership includes a number of men of significant wealth and power."

Shizuru's smile grew a slight bit more like a smirk.

"Reito, London is positively full of fraternal orders, clubs, secret societies, and so on. Some are social clubs, some are mystical in nature like the Golden Dawn, some are organized to indulge in vice, some are _de facto_ political parties, and so on. What is almost universally true is that the rumors of their pervasive and corrupt nature is drastically exaggerated. The Catholic Church, for example, will excommunicate a man who becomes a Freemason, largely because of extremely silly publicity. In truth, it reminds me very much of boys playing at being pirates or outlaws. There seems to be something in the human spirit that requires names, rituals, and ceremonies whenever we band together."

Reito couldn't help but smile, but it was only for a moment.

"True enough, but you can't deny that some of these groups are genuinely dangerous, from the old Hellfire Club to the Sicilian Mafia. Besides which, when men of wealth and power group together, it doesn't have to be a conspiracy to be dangerous. A mutual quest for more influence would be enough."

"You are remarkably persistent about this."

"Given the weight of the influence pointed at me, I think that I have cause."

"And I have a client. Good day, Reito."

I didn't know whether to curse or be elated as we left the Maupertuis estate. Again, my feelings were warring within me, the wealth of information I stood to discover weighted against the danger to Shizuru and the chance that she might learn about my own past. Indeed, if she pressed on, I might find that I had to tell her what I knew for her own protection.

The problem so occupied me that I let my attention drift. Shizuru was already raising her hand to signal a cab that was parked across the court when I realized what was wrong.

"Shizuru, I...feel like walking for a while. Would that be all right?" _Bloody hell_, I swore at myself, _I sound like an idiot._

"You'd like to walk?" she repeated back to me, confused.

"Yes, for a while at least. I mean, it's not every day that I get called out to Mayfair, after all," I babbled. "A few blocks, at least. It shouldn't make for a serious delay, should it?"

Shizuru blinked, then apparently decided to play along and so smiled at me.

"_Ara_, does Natsuki feel like she is getting lazy? I had not realized that I was interrupting her exercise program."

"...Idiot," I muttered, feeling my cheeks grow hot in spite of it all. I hoped—maybe _prayed_ would be a better word—that she was strictly teasing and didn't genuinely think that was my reason for wanting to walk. I set off at a fast stride as if annoyed at her, and she had to hurry to catch up; my trousers made walking considerably easier than her skirts.

"Natsuki!"

I slowed at once, and turned to look back at her—which also gave me the chance to look at the cab.

"I'm sorry, Shizuru," I said, but in truth I felt a bit smug. My ploy to get a good look had worked, and the black expression on the cabby's face above the turned-up collar of his coat suggested that I'd been right to worry.

What I'd noticed, almost too late to keep from walking both myself and Shizuru into a trap, was that there was no good reason for a growler to be waiting in this area for a fare. The residents of Claremont Court were wealthy people who owned their own carriages. If for some reason one needed a cab they would have a servant fetch one from a cab-stand, but there was no reason to loiter in the square. _We_, on the other hand, _did_ need a cab, and one had just happened to be ready and waiting.

I should have been more on my guard than I was; I probably would have been were it not for the fact that Shizuru has an almost magical ability to find cabs. I've seen her conjure them seemingly out of thin air before when she needed them, so I had a valid reason to be off my guard even given my personal worries. That would have been cold comfort if we'd blithely gotten inside and found ourselves driven off into the hands of assassins.

"So," I hurried to find a point of conversation, anything to distract Shizuru from the incident before she figured it out for herself, then started considering why anyone would be lying in wait, especially so early in a case. "I noticed that you didn't tell Kanzaki about Robert Merridew."

"I didn't, did I?" she said, smiling.

"I know you like to hold on to your deductions until a case is over, but usually you'll share the facts that you learn with the official force; particularly something as straightforward as this."

"Usually I do," she agreed, "but then again, usually I am working for the official force, or at least with a shared responsibility. In this case, I have a private client who is entitled to my first loyalty. In any case, Reito will learn it for himself soon enough, if he but asks the same questions as I did, or even if he simply asks her what she told me. I just want a chance to investigate this Mr. Merridew before the police stumble in all over everything."

"Then we're going to call on him next?"

"No, first we are going to find out who he is, what kind of man. Face-to-face deduction is valuable and impresses the clients, but is unlikely to tell me if, for example, Merridew was connected in some way to the Netherland-Sumatra Company."

"And what about Kanzaki's warning?" I felt constrained to ask. The incident with the cab weighed heavily on my mind, tipping the scales towards a desire to see Shizuru safely out of the business.

"What about it?"

"Well, I obviously wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of saying so, but don't you think that he might have a point? This 'Obsidian Court' group doesn't sound like the kind of people who easily tolerate interference in their business, and you'll have to kick over a lot of rocks just to see if Baron Maupertuis's death was for or against them."

"Natsuki is concerned for my well-being?" she teased, and I shot her a look. I was being serious!

"Kanzaki at least has the authority of the law behind him. That goes a long way. You're a private citizen, who doesn't have the entire apparatus of justice ready to step in and replace you."

She looked at me for a long moment.

"You mean this, don't you, Natsuki?"

"Miss Gartner came to you in a near-frenzy because Inspector Barrington was as good as accusing the Baroness of the murder. Well, you took care of that. Barrington's off the case and it's as good as proved that the Baroness is innocent, unless you fancy the idea of her shinnying down a rope from her window, killing her husband, and climbing back up again."

"No, I think we can rule that out. She doesn't have the upper-body development for such acrobatics. Though we cannot be _completely_ certain that it was not done by an accomplice from the outside, such as Dr. Arbuthnot."

"He certainly seemed to approve of the widow's upper-body development," I said dryly. The cab wasn't following us; its driver, if he were guilty, must have had orders to take us as a decoy rather than by force. In any case he'd be one against two and both Shizuru and I could take care of ourselves.

"A clever turn of phrase, but I won't disagree," Shizuru said with a light laugh. "But then again, if it remains possible that the Baroness enlisted an accomplice—or a hired hand—to remove her husband, having the tie-pin stolen to divert suspicion, then can we truly say that she is free of danger?"

"You don't believe that."

"No, I do not, but the investigation of crime is not about belief, but about evidence. My initial assumptions have been wrong before—do you recall the Norbury business last year? Only by following the evidence will we find if a belief is justified."

"So you're not going to drop the case."

"I cannot." After a moment, as if feeling something more was needed, she said, "I will take your words to heart and be careful, Natsuki."

I could only hope that would be enough.

"And now, if you have suitably indulged your passion for walking, I see a cab-stand up ahead. We need to return to Baker Street so we can properly begin. Come, Natsuki, the game is afoot!"

~X X X~

_A/N: Shizuru's reference to "the Norbury business" is an allusion to the Sherlock Holmes adventure, "The Yellow Face." As usual, the actual Holmes cases are used as the ones which Shizuru investigates "off-stage," as it were._


	5. Chapter 5

"The Honorable Robert Merridew," Shizuru read the entry from _DeBrett's_. "Third son of General Lord Shepard Merridew, made Viscount Talmadge after his heroism in the Crimea—the father, that is. Educated at Eton and Oxford, twice stood for Parliament as a Tory, serves as a more-or-less honorary director on the board of a half-dozen or so companies."

"The Netherland-Sumatra Company?" I asked.

"A very good question, but no. However, he _is_ listed as being on the board of the Cape Horn Trading Company."

"Is that significant?"

"Possibly. They held a number of the Netherland-Sumatra's debts, and had the profits from certain contracts as collateral. When the crash came, they ended up collecting the last revenues due the Netherland-Sumatra Company before the money could ever reach the hands of the investors, or the general creditors. It certainly makes one wonder. Particularly when one considers that it was pressures placed on the marketplace by the Searrs Foundation that caused the revelation that the Netherland-Sumatra Company's finances had little more stability than a house of cards."

"The Searrs Foundation? How do they fit in?"

"Well, John Smith was the trustee running the Foundation at that time, and he was a member of the Obsidian Court."

"He was? How do you know that? You hadn't even heard of the Obsidian Court until today!"

Shizuru had solved Smith's murder this past December, untangling a nasty tale of family treachery. Smith _had_ been a member of the Court, although it had been irrelevant to his death, but I had no idea how Shizuru could know that.

"Surely Natsuki noticed his cuff links when we inspected the dead body?"

I had, of course, since he'd worn cuff links identical to those of the men who'd murdered my mother.

"Not particularly," I lied through my teeth.

Shizuru shook her head sadly.

"Tsk, Natsuki, you should be more observant. Although of course I knew nothing of their significance them, I do remember that they they were the precise opposite design as Baron Maupertuis's missing tie-pin: obsidian triangles with gold circles inset. Most likely they represent a different ranking within the group. Such organizations are very fond of that sort of symbolism."

"So, you're saying...what? That the whole business of the Netherland-Sumatra Company was a gigantic swindle by the Obsidian Court to fleece the company's investors and business partners?"

"The connections are certainly suggestive."

I sighed.

"One day, Shizuru, I'm going to ask you a yes-or-no question, actually get an answer yes or no, and drop dead from the shock."

"We can't have that happen to you, so it's best that we go on as we have," she riposted without missing a beat.

I was spared the effort of trying to come up with a viable comeback when the door opened. I was grateful for the interruption; not only did I never win playing word games with Shizuru (who did?), but it was exhausting to try.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Mrs. Hudson announced. The tall, red-haired Scotswoman marched into the room and set the tea tray down in front of Shizuru on the coffee table. It was the earthenware pot and porcelain cup that indicated green tea, which I only drank under protest so there wasn't a second cup for me. The sight of something to be consumed reminded my stomach that its breakfast had been cut short by Miss Gartner's appearance, and it rumbled loudly.

Mrs. Hudson laughed.

"I'm guessing you'd like something for luncheon, Natsuki?" Most of the time she called us "Miss Viola" and "Miss Kuga" in front of callers, when she remembered, but her brashly genial good nature was as thoroughly informal as an American's. Neither Shizuru nor I was quite comfortable with calling her Moria in return, but she always said we'd get there sooner or later. She was probably right; she wasn't that much older than we were, probably in her mid-twenties (not that she'd admit to being a day over seventeen) and that gave the widow a good chance of breaking through our lingering reserve. It was only the landlady-tenant relationship, I suspected, that kept things at all formal between us.

Ears burning, I murmured, "I could eat."

"There's plenty left from last night's beef roast; I could put up some sandwiches for you. Somehow I think that having the shortest delay in serving is what's most important to you right now." She turned to the detective, who was already pouring herself a cup of tea. "And you, Shizuru?"

"Nothing, please."

"Now wait a minute," I spoke up. "You were taking as much food as I was this morning and were only three bites ahead of me or so when we were interrupted. So how did you magically turn from starving to not hungry?"

"The French, with whom you should be in sympathy with in culinary matters as they are the inventors of that concoction you are so fond of, have the admirable attitude that mealtimes are to be enjoyed for themselves, without discussion of serious affairs that would distract the diner from her appreciation of the food. It is an attitude to which I fully subscribe. With a case in hand, my mind is so consumed by thoughts of its puzzle that I cannot properly set it aside to give a meal its proper attention."

"I'd believe that if you ever ate when you _didn't_ have a case," Mrs. Hudson was not impressed.

"My mind does not stop working during ordinary life," Shizuru replied mildly.

"Personally, I find that my mind stops working at all when my body is yelling for me to put food in it."

"A common affliction, but one which Natsuki needs to learn to transcend if she wishes to get the most potential from her intellect."

"Well, Shizuru, you'd better transcend _your_ affliction if you don't want to incur the wrath of your landlady," Mrs. Hudson snapped, unfazed. "I'm bringing you up food and I'm telling your callers you're not at home until you eat it."

"Yes, Mother."

"Oh, speaking of callers, Natsuki, a street urchin brought this for you while you were out." She took an envelope out of her apron pocket and handed it to me. "_He_ appreciated a bit of food when it was offered, Shizuru. You could learn from him."

Shizuru probably said something back to her, but if she did, I didn't catch it. I was too busy tearing open the envelope, having recognized the handwritten "Natsuki Kuga—221B Baker St." as being in Porlock's hand. The message, though, was short, concise, and as frustrating as trading quips with Shizuru:

_Natsuki:_

_This isn't our usual method of communication, but I'm sure you'll understand._

_LIGITKHUKXJXUEISAXXEOIPAKPZGQ_

A code! He was damned right it wasn't our usual method of communication; he never used codes. Then again, if people were faking telegrams from him to lure me into a trap, it made sense that he'd figure he should take precautions. Letters could be intercepted, after all; for all I knew this one could have been—the boy bribed, the note opened, resealed, and sent on with me none the wiser. Or taken by force and a different boy sent on with the message. At least this time I had the handwriting to tell me that it was genuinely from Porlock.

Or a good forgery.

Okay, that was unlikely, both in that it was a more difficult project than just sending a telegram and that they'd be trying the same trick two days in a row. On the other hand, I'd fallen for it the first time, hadn't I?

No, I figured that the message was legitimate, but a little healthy suspicion could help a woman under a death sentence _stay_ healthy. So I'd trust the message but keep my eyes open.

Of course, that was presuming that I could figure out what the hell the message even _was_. A coded message kind of implied that sender and receiver had both agreed on a code and we hadn't. The only experience I had with codes was from reading Poe's "The Gold-Bug" and while Porlock knew about my affection for the story that hardly made me some kind of expert.

_Wait a minute. A short note...an ordinary-sized piece of paper..."isn't our usual method"..."The Gold-Bug." Could it be?_

I darted over to the writing desk and after scribbling down a copy of the message in case of an accident, I struck a lucifer and lit the candle we used for melting sealing-wax. Carefully, I passed Porlock's letter back and forth over the flame, trying to thoroughly heat the paper without setting it alight. I needn't have bothered being careful, though, as no secret writing of any kind appeared. Apparently, the coded message _was_ the message after all.

"You couldn't make this easy, could you, Porlock?" I muttered under my breath.

I blew out the candle, pulled out the chair, and sat down. This was going to take work.

The simplest possibility was that Porlock would send the key to the code by another message. It was self-evidently stupid, of course, to include both in the same envelope; one had might as well write in plain English. Sending them separately would mean that the enemy would have to intercept two messages, as the key was useless by itself and the message useless without the key. So there was a chance all I had to do was sit and wait and the puzzle would be solved for me.

On the other hand, maybe that wasn't it. Which would mean that waiting would accomplish nothing. Or it was right, but the key _had_ been intercepted and not let go on to me. If either of those was true, then it stood to reason I should try to break the code. Indeed, if there was no key coming, then Porlock _expected_ me to be able to break it.

I sighed and reached for the pen and the copy. Better to do my scribbling on plain paper and not mark up the original.

This was exactly the area in which, I felt, Shizuru and I differed most. She _liked_ this kind of thing. She took genuine pleasure in testing her brain out on a puzzle. It wasn't just the solutions; she actually enjoyed the process of getting there. I wasn't an idiot; I was quite capable of using logic and reason to solve puzzles, but I didn't enjoy it. That was why I didn't do crosswords or the like; I didn't find them fun and the reward (All the squares filled in. Yay.) wasn't worth the effort of winning it.

So this would be just as much a chore for me to do; only I had what I considered a good reason for doing it.

_Let's take this logically_, I thought. The first thing I needed to do was stop calling it a "code." That was a message in which words or symbols stood for words, phrases, or ideas. What I had was a "cipher," in which each individual letter of a message is replaced, in this case by other letters. Breaking the cipher was made more difficult by the removal of spacing between words and eliminating punctuation, which both limited my ability to use the characteristics of the English language (such as "a" and "I" being the only single-letter words) to help solve the puzzle.

That brought me back to Poe and "The Gold-Bug," which not only is a good story, but an excellent primer on the breaking of substitution ciphers. I started making a list of the frequency of certain characters appearing in the message: four Xs, four Is, three Ks, and so on. I had barely begun, though, when Mrs. Hudson came in bearing a laden tray. She set it down on the table, then brought a plate with sliced apple, slivered ham, and a croissant to Shizuru.

"I want every bit of this inside your stomach. You can't fight crime and injustice while you're busy fighting starvation," Mrs. Hudson huffed. Shizuru, apparently knowing when to pick her battles, took an apple slice and crunched into it.

For me there was the promised roast beef, served between thick slices of black ploughman's bread with lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, and mustard, together with a cup of steaming hot coffee to wash it down with. I may have started drooling when she set the plate on the desk. At the very least I was distracted enough that I didn't notice her glancing over my shoulder at what I was doing.

"Oh, hey, a coded message! Now, this is why it's so interesting having you two lodging here. Codes, chemistry equipment, unusual callers. It's almost entertaining enough to make up for some of the more irritating habits."

She shot a glare at Shizuru, who was unfazed.

"I know, but we have gotten our Natsuki to cease her noxious cigarette smoking, which has greatly improved the quality of the atmosphere."

"You know, if I'm going to get chaffed about it anyway, I might as well start up again and at least get to enjoy the sin along with taking the punishment."

"Perhaps you have a point."

"I'll be back for the dishes later," Mrs. Hudson said, "and if yours isn't empty, Miss Shizuru Viola, then that's the last pot of tea you'll get out of _my_ kitchen."

"The two of you are doing quite well with your threats this afternoon," Shizuru noted.

"Practice. I've had a husband and Natsuki has you."

"_Ara, ara,_ but I truly consider myself more 'wifely.'"

"What, now I'm unfeminine?" I snapped. "When did we go from teasing to outright insults?"

Shizuru's face fell.

"_Kannin na_," she said softly. Mrs. Hudson just laughed.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean." She left with a wave. Still out of sorts, I turned back to my work, alternating between making notes on the code and taking large bites out of my sandwich until there were nothing but crumbs on the plate and a complete list of letter-frequency on the paper. I noted at once that only sixteen different letters were used, which I thought seemed a bit low. Although perhaps not—for example, it was unlikely that J, Q, X, or Z would appear in such a short message.

The shortness of the message might prove a problem, I thought as I licked a mustard smear from my left index finger. In "The Gold-Bug," Poe's character had had a large block of text to work with, which increased the chances of solving a substitution cipher by frequency analysis.

"Natsuki?"

Shizuru's voice was soft, almost hesitant, and I wondered if she was afraid she'd really offended me—which she had if only a little. The "_kannin na_" suggested she was; if she was playing around she'd inevitably ask forgiveness in English, but sincerely meant it—accepting that she had crossed a line requiring an apology—when she slipped into Japanese.

"I might be able to help, if you're trying to break a code."

"It's all right, Shizuru," I said. "This is...a personal matter." I expected a joke to follow about love affairs and _billets-doux_ or whatever, but it didn't come.

"Oh, I see."

Figuring she must have been feeling genuinely bad for pushing the teasing too far, and also figuring that I might have been harsher with her than she legitimately deserved due to my personal circumstances, I added, "But thanks for offering. I do appreciate it."

The consideration worked; she flashed me a quick, genuine smile.

"You're very welcome."

She picked up her chopsticks and attacked the ham in earnest, while I took my pen and did the same to the cipher. Unfortunately, after three quarters of an hour of trying out a variety of combinations and possibilities, I was nowhere nearer to a solution than when I'd begun, and worse yet I was out of ideas.

Which meant that I now had a choice.

I could set the message aside, hope that a key would be delivered at some future time, and risk missing a message which my most reliable and best-informed source of information felt was important enough to encode.

Or I could ask my friend for help, let her pit her superior powers of analysis against this puzzle, and resign myself to letting her have at least a glimpse into my most secret heart.

I wondered something, then. Why was it that Shizuru was waiting around our rooms at all, waiting patiently while I wrestled with this message? Shouldn't she have been off working on the case, tracking Robert Merridew? Instead, she was hanging back, giving me time to attend to my private affairs so that I could be free to join in hers.

When it came right down to it, did I even had a choice? I needed that information, and Shizuru...God, Shizuru had earned my trust a hundred times over by now, hadn't she?

I took a deep breath. It was funny, how I had to "screw my courage to the sticking place" for such a simple thing.

"Shizuru, would you help me?"

There was silence for a long moment. Why not? _She_ knew how jealously I guarded my privacy and the amount of trust I was placing in her. Of course she'd recognize it.

"I would be happy to," she said, smiling softly in an expression completely unlike her usual serene mask.

Then she rose from the sofa and came over to the desk once more, the consulting detective at work, perhaps knowing that any actual discussion of what it had meant for me to extend her that invitation would embarrass me to no end. I got up and let her take my place, then watched as she looked over the message and my notes.

"I see," she mused. "Well, as far as it goes, I see nothing wrong with your work. On the contrary, you seem to have effectively demonstrated that this Mr. Porlock—I presume a man since you would be less likely to call a woman by just her surname?"

I nodded. This was exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of in taking this step—that she would not only see the content of the message, but from a dozen small clues be able to extrapolate further details far beyond what I wanted to tell her.

"A broad-nibbed pen and cheap ink and paper imply a person of low social class, but Mr. Porlock writes in an educated hand at odds with the surrounding details. When added to the coded message, I would assume he is some manner of underworld figure?"

"He's a middle-man of sorts, dealing occasionally in rare goods, but most usually in information," I explained. "He's the most trustworthy informant I have, and the best...though his fees tend to reflect that."

"He sounds like a very useful person to know."

That was when I realized why she had recited her deductions from the note. She didn't _have_ to share them, after all. She could have just filed them away into that steel-trap mind of hers and attacked the message. But _she wanted me to know what she knew_. That is, she wanted me to be aware of just how far into my secrets I was allowing her to see.

I found myself genuinely touched.

"In any case," she continued, "what your work has shown is that Mr. Porlock did not use a simple substitution-cipher to encode this message. We must look to a more complex form of code. I noticed your testing for invisible ink before, and presumably failing, so we can assume that the message is not a red herring, as you mystery writers phrase it. That is, it's genuinely meant to convey meaning. That gives us an important assumption: that _he believes you should be able to read this._ Either you know the key—which you clearly don't—or that you can break the code."

"I did consider that he might send the key separately."

"No, I could accept that as part of a prearranged plan between the two of you when you had duly considered the risks, but not in a one-time communication. The solution must lie within the four corners of this document. Therefore, we can rule out such esoterica as a scytale."

"A what?"

"A device used by the ancient Greeks. A strip of paper is wound around a baton, the message is written out across the strip, and then the strip unwound, which shuffles the order of letters, making the entire message into an anagram. This could be used to an already-encoded message to keep code-breakers from seeing recognizable words. But it cannot apply here, because you would need a baton of the same diameter to put the letters back in order. Do you see? The solution cannot depend on something you have no way of knowing."

I let out my breath with a sigh.

"I understand, but so far I'm not exactly brimming over with this knowledge I'm supposed to have."

"And yet there must be...ah!"

"What is it?"

"Perhaps a Vigenere cipher?"

"That doesn't help me."

"It was named for Blaise de Vigenere, but in reality was invented by the great Italian cryptographer, Giovan Battista Bellaso." She smiled slyly, reminding me of her own half-Venetian origins. "Do you know what a Caesar cipher is?"

I'd read about that one.

"It's a simple cipher once used by Julius Caesar, where you shift the alphabet up or down a set number of places. If you shifted two places, A would be C, B would be D, C would be E, and so on. It's even easier to solve than a regular substitution cipher, because all the letters follow the same pattern; solve a couple and the pattern becomes obvious."

"Exactly! The Vigenere cipher is a system for using multiple different Caesar ciphers to encode a message using a prearranged key word or phrase."

"Multiple different Caesars? You mean, the first word would use one shift, the second word a different rule, and so on?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" I rolled my eyes. "Shizuru, you're not exactly making this easy."

"It isn't supposed to be easy," she said apologetically. "Perhaps an example would help?"

"It can't hurt to try."

"True enough. Let's say your message is, um, 'Natsuki loves mayonnaise.'" She wrote it down: NATSUKILOVESMAYONNAISE. "And let's say your key word is something simple, like 'pistol.' Now, you write that word out below the message, one letter beneath each letter of the message." She wrote it out: PISTOLPISTOLPISTOLPIST. "Then what you do is you simply go through and encode each letter of the message using the Caesar alphabet where A matches the letter of the key word beneath the letter you are encoding. So for the N, you would use the alphabet where A is P; that is, where the letters are shifted up fifteen places. So N would become C. Then you would encode the next letter, A, with the alphabet where A is I, so I. Thus 'NATSUKI' becomes,"—she did some quick figuring—"CILLIVX."

"Which looks like a very badly written Roman numeral. But I get it—both I and L appear twice in that one word, but actually stand for different letters, so frequency analysis won't work."

"Exactly. Now, a Vigenere cipher _can_ be broken, particularly if the key is short and repeats many times through a message and so generates patterns. The longer the key, the harder it is to break. For example, I might use a Bible verse, since it's extremely easy for anyone in this country to get hold of a King James edition and so would not need to memorize the phrase or carry it with him or her."

"I don't recall ever discussing religion with Porlock," I noted. "We're more likely to get sidetracked by his passion for criminal history."

"A worthy study. Very little in crime is truly original; much can be solved by knowledge of the past. Does he have a favorite?"

"Jack the Ripper, maybe," I mused. "Honestly, I've never heard the same story more than once from him. Why? Did you think that might be the key word?"

"It would have to be something that you could readily guess. We do not have the time to crack a Vigenere by brute-force methods."

"If it even is one of these Vigeneres." But I had to admit that her idea made sense. Porlock might have thought I'd know of the Vigenere cipher through my love of Gothic and mystery literature, and if a key word could easily communicated...

_Communicated..._

I read the letter again. _This isn't our usual method of communication..._ Could that be it? Porlock's hint at the key to the cipher?

"Try 'telegram,'" I said.

"What was that, Natsuki?" Shizuru looked up at me.

"Try 'telegram' for the key word."

"All right."

It took only a couple of minutes for her to run through Porlock's whole message: SEVENTHIRTYTONIGHTMAISPORLOCK.

"Seven-thirty tonight, Mai's. Porlock," I read it aloud.

"_Ara_, I believe that Natsuki has a dinner date."

~X X X~

_A/N: The code-breaking scene is an homage to the similar scene in _The Valley of Fear_, where Porlock sends Sherlock Holmes a coded message about Moriarty's plans and Holmes has to break it without the key. Kudos to you if you actually broke the code before Shizuru's explanation or Natsuki figuring out the key! The discussion of codes and ciphers is all based on historical reality, and makes for rather fun reading (as does "The Gold-Bug," though it also contains some of the most pointed reminders in Poe that it was written in the first half of the 19th century in the depiction of Jupiter)._


	6. Chapter 6

Shizuru had attempted to catch Mr. Robert Merridew at his club, the Bagatelle, where he was customarily found between two and five in the afternoon and often staying later to dine, but he was apparently not there and had not been for two days. She'd already learned that this was extremely irregular, a sentiment which the club steward shared. Although ladies were not allowed into the Bagatelle past the Strangers' Room, a rather generous tip had made certain, or at least as sure as could be without direct evidence, that "he is not here" was not a polite fiction for "he does not want to see you."

"So what's he hiding from?" I asked my friend as our hansom clattered away from the club.

"Ah! Then you, too, got that impression?" She pounced on my word choice. "Tell me why."

"Well...because..." I stammered, wondering why she was suddenly putting _me_ on the spot. "He had a quarrel or at least an agitated discussion with Baron Maupertuis, and now the Baron is dead. The Baroness had the impression, too, that Merridew was afraid of something. Now we find that he's broken his routine and is avoiding the one public place where he's regularly found."

"Not necessarily 'the one' public place," she demurred.

"Did you find others?" We both knew the answer to that. "So yes, there might _be_ others, but if you didn't learn them in an afternoon of looking, they aren't obvious."

"I agree."

"So the question is, if he's hiding, then who is he hiding from? Was he in with Maupertuis in some dirty business—the Netherland-Sumatra Company or whatever?—and is running from the consequences? Is Maupertuis's murderer after him, too? Or did _he_ kill Maupertuis and is now hiding out from the law? Though if he was guilty he'd probably send some thug instead of doing it himself; those kind of businessman crooks don't like to get their own hands dirty."

"_Ara_, so many questions."

"And so few answers, unless you know something you're not telling me."

"Not in this case. With luck, we can find some when we call at his house."

Which was not going to happen, at least not for me. I was under a death sentence from the First District; I wasn't just going to waltz into one of their members' houses without having damned good assurances I was going to walk out again. Fortunately, I had a good excuse.

"Sorry, Shizuru; it's not going to be 'we' this time."

"Ah, your dinner engagement with Mr. Porlock."

"Is it absolutely necessary to use the words 'engagement' and 'Porlock' in the same sentence?"

Laughter danced in Shizuru's scarlet eyes.

"I thought that Mr. Porlock was one of Natsuki's trusted comrades."

"I trust him as a reliable business contact, yeah. But marriage?" I shuddered. My reaction made Shizuru giggle.

"Very well; I shall take care not to imply it again."

"I appreciate that, if only so that I don't have that picture in my mind throughout dinner."

Arriving early for my last meeting with Porlock had been what enabled me to get inside the trap before it had been built and deal with the trappers on the way out. I thought that was a good policy to continue, so I hadn't been lying to Shizuru when I said I needed to set off for my engagement—Gah! There was that word again! She hadn't pointed out the time disparity, so either she believed I had another errand to attend to beforehand which wasn't her place to ask about, or she had a pretty good idea what I was up to.

I wasn't sure which bothered me more, Shizuru thinking I was lying to her or Shizuru having a good enough idea of the danger I was in to be able to understand the precautions I was taking. The lines between my private self and the self I shared with her were getting dangerously blurred, making me feel like I was standing on shifting ground. Which was not where I wanted to be when I was on the verge of ending things with my mother's murderers, if I didn't lose my own life first.

"If you like, Natsuki, I could come with you," Shizuru offered. She meant to be kind and supportive, but it was the very last thing that I needed to hear in the middle of a debate with myself over how deeply I was allowing Shizuru into the private recesses of my life,

"That won't be necessary," I said sharply, too sharply. She flinched back, not so much from the words as from the tone and I let out my breath in a heavy sigh. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you, but this is personal. I can't tell you all the details, and I don't want to get you involved in my problems."

"Natsuki and I are friends, aren't we? If you are in trouble or having difficulty, I want to help, just as you help me with some of my cases."

"Shizuru, I don't _help_ you with your cases; I tag along and give you somebody to talk to and be impressed on cue. It's not the same thing."

"Natsuki is a very great help to me! What about the Wortham Collar robbery? Not only were you extremely useful in assisting me to deduce the method of the crime, but it was also your underworld contacts that led us to the thief himself. Besides that, it is far more than your tangible, direct assistance which helps me. You vastly underrate your importance; our conversations are much more useful to me in sorting out the truth of a matter than sitting by myself and thinking.

"What's more important, though, than the precise amount of help is the reason you are willing to offer it. You are not an inquiry agent; you do not get paid by my clients, but instead help out of pure friendship, even to the point where you are willing to face danger in confronting thieves and murderers!"

I shook my head.

"Those are two different things, Shizuru."

"No, they're not. I want to help you, Natsuki. You have to admit that I do have skills that would be useful in the kind of business that involves meetings with an underworld information-broker."

"I know," I said, then repeated, "I know that, Shizuru. I...I just don't want to drag you into this. It's an ugly affair."

"I am familiar with such things."

I shook my head.

"You believe in justice, Shizuru. In setting things right and in protecting innocent people and in sympathizing with the pain of lost love. There have been plenty of times in my past where if you'd met me, your first reaction would have been to put me in jail. My skills at fighting and shooting and stealth and forcing locks and housebreaking didn't come from nowhere. This goes beyond friendship or even risk. It'd be different, you know, if this was a Gothic novel and I was chasing down some vampire for the good of humanity. But this isn't something clean and pure like that." I reached out to her, laid my kid-gloved fingers on her forearm, and squeezed lightly. "I don't have the right to do this to you, and I won't."

Trying to blunt the impact of my refusal, I made myself smile and said, "I really appreciate the offer, though. I know that you meant it sincerely and...I'm not used to having people who would do that for me. It means a great deal." I gave her arm another squeeze, and let go. Shizuru didn't argue. In fact, she didn't say another word until we got back to Baker Street.

~X X X~

"Mai's" is a restaurant in Limehouse, that section of the docks where the members of London's various East Asian communities have come together to form their own little homes-away-from-home. The Chinese community is the largest and most well-known, but others exist as well, with a few blocks amid the teeming millions of the Western world's greatest city. The restaurant actually has a name, but nobody uses it; the reason people go there is to eat Mai Tokiha's cooking. Any time I feel a desire for Japanese food I go to Mai's, and besides that she was pretty much my closest friend before I met Shizuru.

If you think about it, that says a lot, and nothing very good, about my capacity for making friends, because although there was genuine liking between us my relationship with Mai was entirely superficial.

_Sometimes I think she sees me as another stray to take care of,_ I thought, then offered Mai a mental apology. Two, actually: one for how she saw me and one for reducing her generous and giving nature to something that I could laugh at.

Truth be told, I was sometimes uncomfortable around Mai just because I thought she was a better person than I was. She had her flaws, including a serious mothering complex, but she was one of the few people I knew whom I'd genuinely call "good." The world needed more Mais, while I had a sneaking suspicion that one Natsuki was enough.

Those rather depressing thoughts, though, weren't really the point. The issue at hand was that Mai's was a regular haunt of mine. I had a feeling that was why Porlock had picked it—after our last encounter, he didn't want to bring me somewhere where I didn't feel comfortable. That was nice. It was also troubling.

The problem was that a woman under a sentence of death can't afford to be predictable. I hadn't seen any watchers in or around our lodgings, which I suspected had something to do with Shizuru. There wasn't much point in throwing a spy under the sharpest eyes in London; he could hardly watch me if Shizuru was herself tracking him or set the police on him. But Mai's was different. If I was in the Obsidian Court's place, I would certainly plant watchers around Mai's, to locate me and perhaps to plan an ambush.

As it turned out, I was quite right. My distinctive clothing style served me well in this situation; I was able to wrap myself in a shapeless rag of a cloak, slinking through the Limehouse streets like one of their less fortunate denizens and nothing at all like myself. There were at least two of them which I spotted as possible watchers: a loafer in an alley just a little _too_ out of sight and _too_ attentive to the restaurant door, and a beggar whose alert eyes didn't size up possible sources of charity but kept on focusing on the area around the door as well.

There could have been others; I wasn't Shizuru, after all, but then again, I had my own ways of finding these things out. I rounded the block and came up the loafer's alley from the other side, shedding the cloak and drawing the knife from my right boot. I eased my way up the alley, staying as silent as possible. That was pretty silent—I was good at this—and the loafer wasn't one of the best at his job. Before he had any idea he was even there I had transferred my knife to my left hand and had its point against his throat while I twisted his right arm up behind him to keep him out of trouble.

"Looking for someone?" I asked pleasantly.

"W-what are you doing? I'll call for—"

"And be dead before you draw breath. I know what you're doing here, so as you can guess I'm not in the mood for games."

"I ain't done—"

I dug the knife-point in a little deeper and he fell silent instantly. I considered that progress.

"Now, how many of you are there?"

"I don't—"

"_How many?_"

"Two!" he gasped out. I could see the sweat starting to form on his face.

"Who else?"

"Kenton. He's dressed like a beggar, a half-block down the street."

"Who do you work for?"

"L-Lautrec. Jules Lautrec."

That was potentially useful.

"And who does _he_ work for?"

"I dunno! The boss doesn't tell us that! Afraid we'll set off on our own jobs."

"Smart man."

I pulled back the knife and smacked the hilt across the base of his skull; he dropped like a stone. I used his braces to knot his hands and feet behind him and gagged him with his handkerchief.

I couldn't use the same technique on Kenton, at least not right out in the street. Limehouse wasn't Park Lane, but its denizens would react to the sight of a woman assaulting a beggar quickly enough. On the other hand, he wasn't likely to try to just stick me in the middle of the street, either. He'd want to get me somewhere private and—like the three thugs in Whitechapel last night—where he could get numbers on his side.

So I'd give him that opportunity.

I slipped up the street, staying as close to the buildings as I could, and dropped a coin in Kenton's cup. He looked up at me in surprise, and that surprise grew as he saw that my appearance matched his target's description. He tried to conceal it quickly, his beady eyes narrowing back to normal.

"Thank ye kindly, miss."

"How'd you like to earn twice that?" I asked, Since I'd dropped in a half-crown, that got his attention as easily as it would have his beggar character.

"I'd be delighted ter try. Wot fer?"

"You look like you have sharp eyes. You could do me a favor by just sitting here and looking."

"Fer who?" he asked suspiciously. That might have been acting or not, very much like his accent. I countered with a bit of acting of my own, glancing around suspiciously.

"Not here. Too many ears."

"Where, then?"

I pretended to think about it for a bit.

"That alley up there." I nodded in its direction. "Nice and quiet."

"That suits me," he responded, as I was sure he would. After all, here was his target inviting him to go where his confederate was waiting, in a perfect ambush setup. I had a feeling that Kenton and the loafer were more lookout than executioner, but they wouldn't miss their chance at a fat bonus from their boss for doing the job outright if the opportunity arose.

Kenton squirmed to his feet, scooping up his alms-cup and tucking it into his shapeless beggar's rags. I wondered idly if he'd get to pocket his take or have to split it with other gang members. We walked up the street, passing by numerous Japanese men and women in both European and traditional costume, mixed with the occasional Westerner, generally sailors. He was a half-step behind me as we entered the alley, as there was really no way to have it be otherwise.

"Eh, Harry, I've—" the beggar began, then realized that his friend wasn't standing where he was supposed to be. In the next moment he looked up the alley and saw the unconscious form of the loafer. A brighter fellow might have combined the ideas of his ally having been taken out with that of his target, me, having approached him directly, but he wasn't that smart. "Harry, what the—?" He took a couple of quick steps forward by reflex, while I took one back and then sprang at him. The knife-hilt filled in for a sandbag again, raising my collection of unconscious thugs to two.

I used some of Kenton's rags to bind and gag him as well, then patted them both down. Each carried a knife, and Kenton had a second up his sleeve while Harry had a sap in his pocket. I tossed the weapons up the alley, so they couldn't cut themselves free when they came to, then left them for the district's mutchers as I went across the street to the restaurant.

The delicious smells from the kitchen swirled around me the moment I entered the door, making my mouth water despite everything.

"Natsuki!" a high, childlike voice piped up. "I haven't seen you in a long time!" she added in Japanese.

The girl's name was Mikoto Minagi; she was about fourteen or fifteen at my best guess, with her hair cropped short on top and worn in braids. She was the classic case of the immigrant who didn't find the expected family waiting for her when she reached England and had taken to living rough, almost ferally, on the streets before Mai, being Mai, took her in a few years ago. She was about as devoted to Mai as you'd expect, helped out in the restaurant, and kept a relentlessly enthusiastic disposition despite everything that had happened to her.

"Hi, Mikoto; how are you doing?"

"Great! Takumi's going to meet with Akira's parents this weekend, so Mai's going to close the restaurant and take me on a picnic on Hampstead Heath!"

I smiled at her.

"That sounds fun."

"Mmm-hm! I'm really looking forward to it. Come on, there's plenty of space at the counter."

"Actually, Mikoto, I'm meeting someone here. Could we have a booth, with as much privacy as possible?"

"Miss Viola?"

"No, a man."

She tipped her head to the side, looking at me curiously.

"Natsuki has a gentleman friend?"

I snorted.

"As if. It's business."

"Oh. Okay." This seemed to brighten her mood. "C'mon. This way." She took me through the narrow room, past the crowded tables and booths, jammed with people of multiple races and just as varied clothes, from a wide swath of social classes. The combination of reasonable prices and damned good food attracted a wide number of people. A back-corner booth was available. It was still too close to the counter to be perfect, but it was on the kitchen-door side, which meant that the people most likely to overhear were those going in and out of the back, whom at least I could trust not to be involved with the Obsidian Court. I scanned the patrons and sipped tea while waiting for Porlock's arrival; none of the former caught my eye and the latter just reminded me of Shizuru, of how she'd asked to come with me and I'd turned her down.

Thankfully, Porlock came through the door before I'd had the chance to stew in my own depressing thoughts for too long. His eyes flicked around the room and quickly spotted me; Mikoto approached him as he entered but he said something to her and gestured in my direction. She smiled and scampered off while the man made his way to my booth.

"Porlock."

"Kuga. I have to say, this isn't what I was expecting." He sat down.

"You figured it'd be a hole-in-the-wall chop-house?"

"I've had some of the best food I've ever tasted in chop-houses—and some of the worst. But this is a proper restaurant. The only dirt here is on the customers."

I shrugged.

"Mai could move to the West End, multiply her prices by ten, and get rich in a month. Some days I think she'd like to, but she's got family and community ties."

Mikoto came over with a fresh pot of tea and a cup for Porlock.

"Since your friend's here, would you like to order?"

"Yeah. Bring us a couple of bowls of the house special ramen and hot sake for us both."

"Okay!" She darted off.

"What is the 'house special,' anyway?"

"What, afraid I'll set you up with something ultra-spicy or just really strange for a Westerner now that you're on my home turf? Relax. Truth is, I have no idea what's in the special, since it changes every night, hell, from batch to batch throughout the night. Basically, Mai takes all the odds and ends left over in the kitchen, fish, meat, vegetables, whatever's there, and she uses it to make the special. There's only two things true every time: you never know what's going to be in it, and you always know it's going to be delicious."

He smiled and spread his hands with a shrug.

"I'm in your hands, Kuga. Besides, under the circumstances, I believe neither you nor I is in any mood to start playing games over the dinner."

"You've got that right," I agreed sourly. "By the way, the next time you ask for a meeting, could you be a little less arcane about it?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"Only because Shizuru broke your damn code. I'd never even heard of a Vigenere cipher before."

"She _broke_ the code?" He looked impressed.

"Well, she figured out what it was and I guessed the key word."

"Ah, that's better. I hoped you would understand my little message."

"Yeah, as to the key word, but you missed the point. If I hadn't showed your message to Shizuru, we wouldn't be having this meeting now. Which meant I had to share my private business with a third party."

He looked at me oddly.

"Kuga, are you telling me that you haven't told Miss Viola anything about the Obsidian Court or any of this? Are you _trying_ to put your head on the block?"

"I'm trying to keep my friend's head off it."

"Then you'd better hope the First District doesn't make the same assumption that I did."

"They haven't so far, and I'm trying to _keep_ it that way," I snapped.

"All right, but I'm not going to apologize for the message. You're in a very dangerous position right now and I'm not inclined to be picked off in the crossfire."

"You almost were."

He reached for his tea.

"I'd like an explanation of that."

"There were a couple of bully-boys keeping an eye on Mai's," I said, "apparently waiting to see if I'd show up."

"Hm."

"I dealt with them, though. I even got one to confess that he works for a boss named Jules Lautrec. You can add that name to the bill, because I'm going to want to know who's paying _him_. With any kind of luck, I'll be able to work my way up the food chain to someone that gives the orders instead of following them."

"Lautrec," Porlock murmured, turning the name over in his mind. "He must be local; Whitechapel thugs wouldn't know how to operate in Limehouse or vice versa, and his masters are bright enough to know the difference."

I thought "wouldn't be able" was taking it a bit far, but he was basically right. Local knowledge was a criminal's stock in trade: where to find victims, how to escape after the crime, where to fence the swag, and so on. The roughs I'd tangled with so far were low-end thugs, not the type of skilled labor that would go from place to place.

"That's what I thought."

"I'll make a couple of inquiries. It shouldn't be too hard to run down a French gang leader in London. Probably an ex-seaman; also probably a smuggler. Give me a couple of days."

"I may not _have_ a couple of days."

"No, I—"

Porlock was interrupted by a cheerful, accented voice. Unlike Shizuru and me, Mai hadn't grown up bilingual and so her English spoke of her origins, particularly in how her Ls and Rs occupied that indeterminate space between the two letters that was the Japanese R sound.

"Here you go, two specials and hot sake." She set down the sake tray and the steaming bowl of soup. "It's a pork base tonight, is that okay?" she asked Porlock.

"I'm quite lapsed; I don't keep kosher," he replied with a smile.

"Oh, good. I always like to let people know, though, before they start eating. Enjoy!"

"I didn't know you were Jewish," I told Porlock as Mai trotted off.

He picked up the fork she'd left along with his chopsticks. "I don't broadcast it. Bad for business in some quarters. And I'm pretty much the prodigal son, anyway."

"Ah." I knew when not to push a point.

"So how do you eat this, anyway? It smells delicious, but there's no spoon."

"Ramen's pretty simple. Eat all the stuff out of it, then pick up the bowl and drink the broth."

"Really. Right from the bowl?"

"Uh-huh. See, like that guy over there? And that one?" I pointed with my chopsticks to a couple of Japanese patrons.

"I see. Good enough." He hooked a chunk of egg out of the broth and transferred it to his mouth. "I presume there's no rule of etiquette against talking business while eating?"

"As if I'd care about etiquette even if there were." I slurped noodles. Generally, I prefer European food to Japanese, but Mai's is an exception.

"That's good, because you need to know what you're up against."


	7. Chapter 7

"To know what I'm up against?" I repeated back at him. "You've got information for me about the Obsidian Court? Solid information?"

"Yes. I was already on the trail of something, but last night's little fiasco convinced me to step up my efforts and push." He smiled at me. "After all, if the paying customer gets killed before she _can_ pay, it's not very good for my bottom line, is it?"

I recognized a cue when I heard one and dug into my pocket, coming up with a small drawstring bag which I dropped on the table. The coins inside made a distinctive clink.

"Of course, there's also the fact that if they know you're involved enough with me to use your name as bait, then they might also decide that you know too much."

"Always an inconvenient position to be in," he remarked coolly. He scooped the bag up and transferred it to one of his own pockets in a practiced motion. The fact that he didn't count it put him back in my good graces, so I poured sake from the flask. He drained one of the tiny cups.

"Watch it; it's got a kick to it," I said, grinning.

"I noticed," he replied, and we both attacked our ramen for a short time, slurping meat, seafood, vegetables, and noodles down our gullets, hunger winning out momentarily over everything else. After a few minutes, though, Porlock swallowed and resumed talking.

"You probably already know some of this, but I figure I'll give you the complete picture and let you sort it out."

"That works," I agreed.

"As you probably guessed from the name," he began, "the Illuminated Order of the Obsidian Court claims descent from the Bavarian Illuminati."

"According to Shizuru, so does nearly every so-called secret society in the last three hundred years."

Porlock nodded.

"And, just as you'd expect, for the most of them it's all just so much hot air. The Obsidian Court is definitely such a group, although they do have some quite genuine history. They were founded in 1781, by a group of wealthy businessmen who were Loyalists during the American revolution and ended up driven out of the country, losing substantial property holdings to the victors. This was what gave the Obsidian Court its original mandate: an organization by which these men would work together in the shadows to restore their lost wealth and status. Hence their colors: gold for money and position, black for secrecy and power. It also explains their secondary attitude: a strain of strong pro-English ultra-nationalism. It wouldn't surprise you, for example, if I told you that the Obsidian Court were some of the strongest supporters of the American campaigns during the Napoleonic period and one of the reasons why so much money was spent by England on that affair."

"It would surprise me a lot, actually, if you told me that what happened eighty-seven years ago had anything to do with why those bastards killed my mother."

He sighed.

"Probably nothing. In any case, even though the specific players have changed over time, the objectives have not: the accumulation of wealth and power for the members of the First District. The members of the Second and Third Districts do benefit as well, but the contacts they make among the brotherhood—which isn't accurate, by the way, as women can be members as well—but it's the First District which the Obsidian Court's formal plans work to enrich."

"And I presume the various Outer District members, by proving their loyalty, currying favor, seniority, and so on, advance through the ranks towards the First District?"

"Precisely. Thus every member has something to aspire to, as they are let into the deeper secrets of the order. The Third District members essentially view the Obsidian Court as a social club, with a few advantages and possibly unethical business dealings between members on the side. The Second District members understand that the 'possibly' is removed, that the Obsidian Court essentially constitutes an informal financial conglomerate or cabal. Incidentally, the late John Smith of the Searrs Foundation was only a Third District member; given his level of corruption and the power of the Foundation, I suspect that they would tread very carefully in advancing him for fear that he didn't end up usurping the entire society from within."

I appreciated his longer explanations, because they gave me time to eat in between having to say something.

"The First District, of course," he continued, "is well aware of the criminal nature of the Obsidian Court. Essentially, as they progress from Second District into the First, they become aware of deeper and deeper corruption: Stock Exchange manipulations, influence peddling, industrial espionage, blackmail, and murder. Someone who shown signs of turning squeamish is cut off at a certain point of knowledge, allowed to think that this represents the order at its worst."

I certainly understood that analysis.

"Of course, all the Districts use the services of a variety of henchmen and hired agents who aren't members, and who generally know as little as possible about what they're doing, hence the reason the members call them Orphans."

"Of course," I echoed. "Look, Porlock, this is interesting and all, but the plain truth is that I know most of it already and what I didn't is basically window dressing. Nothing so far is justifying a coded message or a meeting—or the fee I've already handed over, for that matter."

He twined noodles on his fork like he was eating linguine, chewed, and swallowed.

"I know," he said. "This is still the background, but we're getting to what really matters. You know the Order's symbol, the triangle with the single dot? Superficially that represents the Illuminated Eye, which pops up all over the place in Illuminati-based nonsense. It has a genuine and fairly innocuous meaning, but generally it shows up because someone wants to make a reference to its origins, not what it actually stands for."

"Little boys at play," I muttered.

"And girls, Kuga. Don't exonerate your own sex in this."

"Fine. Women are as capable of being juvenile idiots as men." I figured that Mikoto would be thrilled to get a secret society pin; though since she actually _was_ a kid being juvenile was completely appropriate for her.

"The point is, it also has a second meaning, referring to the leadership of the First District. There were four men who made up the original Loyalists who founded the Obsidian Court. Three points of the triangle for the three Elders, and the eye for the order's ultimate leader. Apparently, past Elders have included titled nobility, Cabinet ministers, and captains of industry among others. There's a reasonable rate of turnover, besides, since the Elders do tend to be, well, elderly when they assume their seats."

"This is fairly sensitive information you've found out," I realized. "I can't imagine First District members are eager to share the knowledge that they're involved in a criminal conspiracy."

"Let us just say that elderly Elders sometimes are wont to say too much around the wrong family members," he noted. "Nonetheless, I suppose that even though you're starting to appreciate what it is that I've done, you still are asking yourself how it relates to your own circumstances."

"I was trying to avoid that," I murmured, seizing a runaway scallop in my chopsticks.

"That's still a point. But what if I were to tell you that Baron Theophile Maupertuis was one of the Elders of the Obsidian Court?"

My chopsticks clinked against the edge of the bowl and I dropped the scallop, thankfully back into the broth.

"He was—wait a second, I assumed he was First District, all right, but one of the leaders of the whole order? And he was a French nobleman; how does that fit into your pro-British ultra-nationalism idea?"

"Baron Maupertuis had been an ardent follower of Napoleon III; he despised the republic that took the Second Empire's place. By all indications, British dominion over Continental affairs would have suited him quite well."

"I see..." I murmured. But of course, I did not see at all. Oh, I followed the question of Maupertuis's political motivations easily enough, but...he'd been _murdered_, just last night. It was one thing to see a dead man, a murder victim, who'd been a member of the Obsidian Court or even the First District, but one of the masters of that society? The idea that such a man even _could_ be assassinated—

_Why not?_ I asked myself harshly. _It happens to ministers, kings, and tsars, so why not the leader of a much smaller group than a sovereign nation? And besides, exactly what were your plans anyway, when you caught up to them?_

An eye for an eye was the language of revenge, after all. They'd killed my mother, and once I knew who was responsible there would be no question of my intent.

So maybe it wasn't that assassination was so unthinkable. Maybe the problem was that someone else had the same intention that I had at the same time. Worse yet, what if Maupertuis had been the one to order my mother's killing? Where, then, was my revenge, everything I'd worked for, planned for, devoted my life to for fourteen years?

"Do..." I began, my tongue feeling thick. I swallowed some tea, trying to get hold of my wits, and partially succeeded. "Do your sources have any idea why the Baron was murdered? Some internal Obsidian Court matter? Or an outside vendetta?"

"Truth be told, Kuga? Up until right now, when I got to see your reaction, I was wondering if it might be you."

"Me?"

"Have I offended? If so, I apologize."

"No, no, you haven't." I let out a heavy sigh. "You know why I'm looking for these people, after all, and I can't necessarily tell you that your assumptions are wrong." I glanced up at his face. "You don't exactly seem to be screaming in horror about this."

He speared a piece of pork with his fork.

"In my line, you have to expect people aren't always going to make friendly use of the information I provide. A child I'm not. And under the circumstances, Kuga, it's hard for me to say that I'm not on your side."

"Damn it, Porlock, don't get all sappy on me."

He laughed, the stuffed the slice in his mouth, still grinning even as he chewed. I could not believe how utterly and completely embarrassed I was. Bad enough when Shizuru did stuff like that, but now I had bloody _Porlock_ making out like I was a knight on some heroic quest? And worse yet, I found myself _caring_, even being _glad _about it?

I hoped to God that I wasn't blushing.

This had to be Shizuru's fault, damn it. It just did. Caring about what a business contact thought of me as a person was absolutely nothing I would have thought about before meeting her. It was positively mortifying.

"Look," I said, "can we get back to talking about the people who are trying to kill me? If Maupertuis was one of the Elders, then what about the other two? And who's this 'ultimate leader' you mentioned?"

"The Obsidian Prince," he said.

"The _what_?"

"Theatrical, I know, but that's his title. He's the master of the Obsidian Court and, by all account, untouchable. It's said that only the Elders even know who he is; he always appears masked at meetings of the order."

I groaned.

"You have to be kidding me."

"No. There's a limited pool of possibilities, of course, since he—I assume he, or else it would be the Obsidian Princess, which it actually was for nearly all of the 1840s, as I understand it—had to be a First District member before being raised to the pinnacle of authority. But without a list of those members, it's impossible to even proceed by a process of elimination."

"The Netherland-Sumatra Company? Could we follow the money in that business?"

Porlock gave me a long, measuring look, considering it.

"I doubt it. Given what I've learned on your behalf, that was an Obsidian Court scheme for certain, but there's no way to judge the players by their roles."

"The Elders would know the Obsidian Prince's identity, though, wouldn't they? To say nothing of all the dirty business. Baron Maupertuis may be dead, but what about the other two?"

"Ah, them. Well, yes, you're right, they would know, except that I haven't been able to narrow down their identities."

"Could Robert Merridew be one?" It wasn't exactly deduction on Shizuru's level to make that jump.

"Merridew?" Porlock mused. "The name did come up a few times in the course of my research, and I am certain that he belongs to the First District, but I couldn't say for certain."

"Baron Maupertuis and Merridew both have the same tie-pin," I explained, "with a gold triangle and obsidian 'eye' instead of the reversed form I've seen and heard about on cuff-links."

"Ah, and you wonder if that symbolizes the Elders, the First District, or something else?"

"Right."

"I'm afraid that I can't say. I don't know what their trinkets signify. Certainly, this Merridew is not someone to overlook."

I definitely agreed. Unfortunately, he was also someone for Shizuru not to overlook. She would certainly insist on interviewing Merridew tomorrow, and all my concerns about him became even worse if he wasn't merely First District, but actually an Elder. The problem was, how much would I have to tell Shizuru to get out of going along? It wasn't likely that she'd suddenly take Kanzaki's advice and drop the case.

_And now I know why he was pushing her so hard_. With one of its four leaders murdered, the Obsidian Court must be frantic. I wondered if they wanted Kanzaki to be their stalking horse, to find their killer, or if they already knew the truth and would have his Scotland Yard superiors warn him off if he got too near, just to get the case closed on the official books.

"There's one more person you need to be watching out for," Porlock changed the subject, "though I doubt this warning will do you any good."

"Why?"

My chopsticks stirred the broth, finding nothing left. Apparently I'd managed to eat the bowl empty without really noticing.

"I don't know anything as to his name, appearance, age, anything. All I know is that he—or she; it could easily be a woman—is called the Obsidian Prince's Herald."

I groaned.

"Can these stupid titles _get_ more ridiculous? Districts, Orphans, Elders, a Prince, and now a Herald? What's next, a whole chess set?"

"Say what you want about the title, but don't look lightly on the man himself. They call him that because he carries the Obsidian Prince's edicts to those affected by them."

"Let me guess," I said sourly. "He's the Obsidian Court's pet assassin."

Porlock wasn't one for gallows humor.

"Exactly."

"You're serious?"

"Of course. Undoubtedly the Herald orchestrated the attempts on your own life."

And just as undoubtedly had carried out the murder of my mother. Although, that might have been someone completely different fourteen years ago; "assassin" wasn't the kind of job that lent itself to long careers.

"I would note that technically murder isn't the Herald's only job. He's a general expediter of clandestine matters, not just the killing ones."

"Yeah, well, under the circumstances I figure those are the ones that concern me." I watched Porlock eat for a second while an out-of-focus thought slowly became clear. "Porlock, if this Herald is the Obsidian Prince's right hand, then it stands to reason he or she knows who the Obsidian Prince _is_."

"Uh-huh."

"I think we need to find Jules Lautrec, then," I concluded. "If he gives up the Herald, then I'll be one step away from finishing this."

Porlock didn't mention anything about the likelihood of me getting a waterfront gang boss to give up the name of the one who'd hired him. Maybe he just had confidence in me that I could be sufficiently persuasive. Or maybe he figured it would hurt my ability to do it if he started listing reasons why it wouldn't work and so undermine my confidence.

"Probably just figures that opinion's not what I'm paying for, so there's no point in going there at all," I muttered under my breath, then attacked the broth.

"I didn't catch that?" he prompted.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. Is that all? You brought me the complete organizational structure of the Obsidian Court?"

"No, that's not it."

His voice had grown solemn. Before there had been the ease of a man talking business with a client, mostly serious, sometimes humorous, but always with the calm that put these matters one step distant from himself. That ease was gone now, replaced by a tension not only in his voice but his whole posture.

"There's one more thing."

The tension was contagious. I could feel the clenching in my stomach, the prickling at the back of my neck. _Shizuru_? I thought wildly. Had the word on the street put her name next to mine on the Obsidian Court's list of people that needed killing?

And why the hell was _that_ the first thing that came to mind when I thought of bad news?

_I have to find a way to get her to drop the Maupertuis case_, I thought wildly, even though I had no idea how I could even make that possible. Indeed, the entire concept of prying her loose from an investigation once she'd fastened onto it was almost unbelievable.

But I needn't have worried.

Porlock's last piece of information wasn't about Shizuru at all.

"In trying to get to the root causes of this whole affair, I've been continuing to look into your original request, about the _Friesland_ and your mother's death. In working on this new job about the Obsidian Court...well, some new information came out."

"What information?" I snapped at him like a terrier seizing a rat.

"About Saeko Kuga."

"My mother?"

"The plain fact of it is, it seems incontrovertible that at the time she died, Saeko Kuga was a member of the Second District."

I stared at him as if frozen, while my world spun even further out of my control.


	8. Chapter 8

I was glad that I hadn't touched the cup of sake I'd poured for myself. I reached for it with a shaking hand and managed to still the trembling enough that I could pick it up without spraying droplets of liquor everywhere. I drained the cup in one gulp, feeling the near-lukewarm rice wine burn its way down my throat, jolting me hard as it hit my stomach.

_Better_, I thought. I considered pouring another, but I knew that was stupid. With murderers after me, I couldn't afford to dull my perceptions or reflexes. Getting drunk was perhaps the single most idiotic thing someone in trouble could do, although dozens did it anyway.

The drink did do me some good, though. It drowned the first couple of reflex responses to Porlock's revelation, the screaming, yelling, punch-in-the-face ones that would have been foolish. Instead I looked him in the eye and talked slowly, enunciating every word.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means what I said. Your mother apparently was a member of the Obsidian Court. It certainly explains how it was she came to cross their path."

"It isn't possible," I protested, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Kuga, you know that your mother wasn't a saint. She—"

"I know, I know. She was an adventuress. Not even an artist or a dancer or an actress, something like that, just a beautiful woman who was Gerhart Kruger's mistress for...it was eight years in all, I think."

"That's a long time for a man to remain with one mistress," Porlock remarked. He was right, too. It _was_ a long time for a man to stay faithful to a relationship whose very existence testified to his capacity for being _un_faithful.

"Even so, that's not at all the same thing as saying she belonged to the Obsidian Court."

"I did say that my sources identified her as Second District, not First District. Is being involved in shady finance any worse than what you already knew about her?"

"Yes, damn it. At least a mistress earns her own way, whatever your opinion of the work. These business deals, like the affair of the Netherland-Sumatra Company, aren't they just theft on a grand scale, prettier than dipping or cracking a crib but all the same thing in the end?"

"You have a point," he said. "A swindle is a swindle."

"Exactly. It's—" I broke off. "I don't even know why I'm having this conversation with you."

He looked at me, measuringly.

"You had to have it with someone, I think, and at least I already know all the background stuff. Plus, I'm conveniently here."

"There is that." Those were both true, but that didn't make them good reasons. I dug into my pocket and dropped coins on the table for the meal. "I have to get out of here."

Porlock nodded, slowly.

"All right. Just remember a couple of things, all right, Kuga?"

I slipped out of the booth.

"What?"

"One, regardless of your mother being one of them or not, they still killed her. That doesn't change."

I nodded.

"What's the other thing?"

"Whether or not you ultimately change your opinion about the past, the First District is still after _you_."

I nodded again. No, it wouldn't do to forget that one.

"All right." I took a step away from the table, then did something that I doubted I'd have been able to do a year ago. I stopped and looked back.

"Porlock?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He smiled at me.

"Don't mention it. I've got to keep the customers happy, after all."

I headed for the kitchen, walking around behind the counter to a world of steaming pots, oil sizzling in woks, and the rapid chopping of knives against a cutting-board.

"Hey, Mai, I need to use your back door in case a couple of louts are better at escaping from ropes than I give them credit for. Do you mind?"

"Ropes? Natsuki, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Mai challenged.

"Pretty much the usual. Violence, death threats, revenge," I tried to sound flippant. Mai didn't buy the fake attitude and bonked me on the head with a wooden spoon.

"Ow! Mai..."

"You're always getting in trouble. I thought you were over this when you settled down with Viola-san, but now you're backsliding!" She poked me in the chest with the spoon. "Go on; you can use the back exit, but try to take care of yourself, Natsuki!"

_Why does everybody keep _telling_ me that today? And what the hell did she mean by "settling down" with Shizuru, anyway? It's not like I changed what I've been doing._ Although, when you got around to it, I actually had changed my life. As an inquiry agent's assistant and an occasional writer, I'd become almost respectable, if you overlooked the "stalking a murderous secret society" part of my activities.

"Yes, Mai," I groaned.

"Good. Now get going."

I ducked out the back into a grungy alley that ran through the block. No one was waiting for me there; either they didn't think I'd use the exit or didn't have the manpower to cover it. I wondered if Kenton and the loafer were still tied up in their own alley, and if so how much had they had stolen while they were unconscious. In some parts of London, someone who passed out from drink would wake up stark naked by the time the mutchers got through with him or her.

On the way back to Baker Street, I tried to work out why I was so bothered by the idea of my mother having belonged to the Second District. Porlock had a point. I mean, I was never under any illusions that she wasn't what she was. The only difference between "mistress" and "whore" was that the former worked for only one client on a full-time basis. It was still a question of supporting herself financially through her relationship with a man. The cynical, of course, might describe marriage the same way, but if you asked me, I'd say that was because the cynics were doing it wrong. So why should more evidence of her dubious morality bother me? I treasured her memory not because of what she was to the public but because she'd been a loving, caring parent who'd given me happy childhood memories to regret their being cut short.

So that wasn't it. I was sure of it.

So what was it?

I watched the houses, shops, and the gleaming gaslit street-lamps pass as we rattled by. Some of the buildings already had electricity laid on and I wondered how long it would be before the soft flames of the city lights, too, would be replaced by the cold fire of electric bulbs. Safety and security would replace romance.

Then I understood.

It wasn't about my mother at all. It was about me.

For so long, the righteous anger of vengeance had burned in my heart towards my mother's murderers. Finding them and making them pay had dominated my adolescence and my early adult life. I'd ducked out on the peaceful future my father had tried to offer me in favor of learning the dangerous ways of the underworld, risking my neck and getting involved in actual crimes on occasion in order to obtain the contacts and skills I would need. That vengeance, Mother's justice, justified everything, even risking my life as I was doing now.

But if Mother had been part of the Second District, then where was the justice? What was I revenging? One member of a crooked secret society had broken a rule of the order, so the society had her executed? How was that different than a falling-out among thieves? "The wages of sin is death," as it were.

Yes, my mother's death had been a tragedy for me, a terrible loss for a child to bear. But a justification for revenge? To turn my life into some epic narrative of vengeance? A good enough reason to sacrifice the things I'd lost along the way?

Like the harsh truth revealed by electric light, my quest had been stripped of all its romantic underpinnings. It had been reduced to its bare essentials: that I had forced for my own sake and no one else's this meaningless confrontation with the Obsidian Court to the point where it would be them or me. A matter of survival. Obviously, I wanted it to be me that came out alive, and undoubtedly the "Obsidian Prince" and his lackeys had no moral ground of any kind to stand on, but that didn't change the facts.

The stray thought drifted through my head, _I wonder how disappointed Shizuru would be in me if she knew?_ Would she be supportive of my passionate defense of a loved one? Or chastise me for acting without knowing the facts?

Not that I could ever tell her. The sheer, absurd pointlessness of it all just made it all the more important that I tried my best to keep her from getting dragged in. I only hoped that the Maupertuis case didn't overwhelm my efforts.

I made my way upstairs slowly, using my own key on the street door so not to bother Mrs. Hudson. Shizuru was sitting up on the couch instead of reclining, a cup and saucer cradled in her hands. Her expression was soft, almost tender, a lot like how she'd looked after treating my wounded back the previous night.

Seeing it, paradoxically, made me feel worse.

"Things did not go well?"

"I...got some bad news," I admitted. I walked towards my usual seat at the breakfast table, then changed my mind and took one of the chairs opposite the sofa where Shizuru's clients usually sat.

She set her cup down.

"Would you like some tea, Natsuki? It's Assam."

Black tea, rather than green. I didn't think that I could have stood a reminder of Mai's and my meeting with Porlock.

"Yes, please."

She poured for me, added lemon, and passed the cup across to me with a smooth elegance suitable for Baroness Maupertuis's parlor. I sipped, enjoying the warmth; I hadn't realized that I'd gotten so chilled on the way back. Or maybe it wasn't about the cold.

"That's good," I said.

"Mrs. Hudson makes an excellent pot of tea," Shizuru agreed.

"Confess; that's why you were so eager to live here that you went out and found someone to share the lodgings," I managed a joke.

She gave me her usual enigmatic smile. "That would have been clever of me, wouldn't it?"

"Actually, I think it would have been pretty much exactly what I'd expect from you." She flickered a smile at me. "So, did you learn anything about the case while I was out?"

"I thought Natsuki did not want me to pursue this case?"

"I thought you weren't going to listen to me?"

"Well, there is that," she remarked. "And you're right in that I have not given up on the case. However, until I can speak to Merridew, I do not believe that I will be able to make significant progress. I've written to him requesting such an interview, so he should have my message by the evening post. If he declines..." She shrugged. "In that case, I shall have to pursue other options."

"I see." I sipped more tea. "Do you expect him to refuse?"

"I think not. Most often, people find it wise to cooperate with my investigations rather than thwarting them. And if he is afraid of meeting the same fate as the late Baron, as seems likely, then he may well want an outsider to assist him."

"That makes sense. After all, Maupertuis had access to the Obsidian Court resources that Merridew does and they don't seem to have helped him. Especially if it's a matter of factions within the society or someone disobeying a rule—" I broke off sharply as my thought recalled the probable reason for my mother's death.

"Natsuki?"

I shook my head.

"...It's nothing."

She looked at me for a long moment. Her expression did not change, but I was sure she did not believe a word of my denial. She did not, however, attempt top say anything or press the point, for which I was thankful. I'd been afraid that after our...I didn't want to call it a _fight_ but it certainly was an argument...over Porlock's message that she might push for details, but she did not, instead staying within the comfort of our usual relationship. Within the bounds of a polite distance maintained.

Part of me was bothered by that. I had to admit it, part of me wanted her to press the point, push hard enough that I broke down and gave in to the urge to entrust everything to a confidante. After keeping all of this bottled up for so long, and after the repeated shocks and emotional blows I'd received, I really wanted to open up. My defenses were paper-thin at this point. Why else would I have given way and said so much to Porlock, of all people?

And yet, I was at the same time desperately glad that she'd said nothing. As good as it would have felt to unburden myself of everything I'd felt, everything I'd done, all that had happened since Mother had been pushed over the _Friesland_'s rail, I'd have just felt hideously guilty afterwards. The only saving grace this miserable mess had for me was that at least thus far I hadn't put Shizuru in danger, forced her into the scenario. Of course, the Maupertuis case might make that point irrelevant, but at least _that_ had come to her in the ordinary course of business. It'd have happened even if she'd never met me.

_So maybe I should tell her?_ I thought suddenly. _After all, if she'd be investigating _without _me, then isn't my duty to tell her everything I can so she'll have as much knowledge as possible, to benefit by our friendship?_ God, it was a tempting idea, but my conscience wouldn't let it win out. I knew well enough what had spawned it—not concern for her, but concern for _me_.

_If I wanted to be a friend to her, I should get her to drop the case, before she became a danger or learned too much about them for them to let her live._ That was what my superior knowledge of the Obsidian Court meant for me. It told me that the best thing I could do for Shizuru was to keep her, as best I could, from reaching the "point of no return" that I'd already crossed.

I gulped down the rest of my tea. I was sick of chewing things over in my head. I wasn't Shizuru, after all, with a smile on the surface and more going on inside than could be believed. I preferred action to introspection, and running my thoughts around in circles wasn't going to get me anywhere beyond making me even more miserable.

The cup clinked in the saucer when I set them down.

"Thanks for the tea," I said, getting up. "I really needed the bracer."

"Not at all; it's the least I could do. Speaking of which, Natsuki, how is your back?"

"My back? Oh, it's fine, I guess. I don't even feel it except a little sting when I flex too far. You got a better look at it last night, so you know it isn't anything serious."

She held my gaze with hers, not saying a word and not needing to.

"Oh, fine then," I gave in. I stood up and removed my jacket, the fact that I hadn't bothered as yet telling me more than perhaps was comfortable about how I was feeling when I returned. I went and hung it up, then removed my waistcoat, collar, and shirt. My lingerie today was very plain cotton, without any frills or grace, picked out after my embarrassment of the night before. Maybe I'd been expecting this, that Shizuru would get to see it and so I wanted to wear something that would leave me open to the least teasing possible? It was very like her to keep making a fuss over my injury until it was healed, and I supposed I'd been aware of that at the back of my head all along.

Shizuru giggled at the sight, as if she could see right through my thoughts. I skipped right past a maidenly blush and went straight to a tomato color.

We went through the entire ritual again. She unwound the bandage and made approving noises over the state of the injury, then cleaned, dressed, and rebandaged it.

"It is healing nicely, so far. It looks to be a clean cut, and since you are taking proper care of yourself...this time...you should be healed soon. I fear you will not have a very dramatic scar, if any, to add to your collection," she teased.

"I wouldn't actually be against that," I pointed out. "I've got enough of them as it is; too many more and it will start to look like body art, like some explorers write that certain foreign tribes do."

"I do not think that you have to worry about that just yet."

I started buttoning my shirt back up.

"In any case, thank you. I do appreciate you looking after me, even if I get a little tetchy about it sometimes."

"You're very welcome." She didn't sound like she was teasing, though I couldn't be sure with her. I could probably know her for a hundred years and still not always be able to read her moods perfectly.

I went to bed early that night, which was easy because of how exhausted I felt. I couldn't take any action anyway, not until either Shizuru discovered something about Merridew or Porlock delivered Jules Lautrec into my hands. Until then the best thing I could do was to stay out of sight and get some rest while I had the chance.

I didn't get as much rest as I wanted, though, because I found myself wrested out of a nightmare by what I thought was the clangor of a bell. I groped for the gun I kept in my night-table drawer, a new-model Mauser that was more powerful but not so concealable as my Smith and Wessons, even as I fought off the last shreds of sleep. I had just closed my hand around the gun-butt when I heard it again, this time with waking ears, and recognized it as the doorbell.

"Who'd be calling at this hour?" I muttered incredulously, for though the blinds were down and shutters closed it was plainly too dark to be after dawn. I let the gun stay in the drawer, as I had a feeling that the First District's assassins weren't likely to come calling in the regular way, even at a very irregular hour, and instead threw back the bedclothes. My typically masculine taste in dress allowed me to get shirt, stockings, jeans, waistcoat, and boots on in only a couple of minutes. I emerged to join an already-awake Shizuru in the living room just as a very annoyed Mrs. Hudson showed Kanzaki and Tate in.

"I don't care if this is official business or not," she was snapping. "The least you could do is not be rousting decent folk from their beds!" It was kind of funny to see her like this, her eyes still half-lidded and puffy from sleep and her ordinarily untamed red hair was completely wild, sticking out in all directions. I didn't do more than grin since I figured that I looked about the same.

Ordinarily, Kanzaki would have been quick with a "Now, now" and a placating tone to smooth ruffled feathers, but apparently he wasn't in the mood to be polite. Maybe someone had hauled him out of bed at an even more indecent hour.

"When criminals are polite enough to save their work for regular business hours," he snapped, "then we'll be able to do the same. Until then, we have to do what we can."

The landlady let out a sharp sigh.

"I tell you, they ought to warn you against letting rooms to a consulting detective! Stranger and stranger callers at all hours of the night and day!" She spun on her heel and stomped back downstairs, muttering under her breath all the way.

"Well, Reito, since you've taken the trouble to brave Mrs. Hudson's not inconsiderable ire, I can only imagine that your call is an important one," Shizuru said. "Please, sit down and tell me what it is that I can do for you?"

Kanzaki shook his head.

"In fact, Shizuru, we aren't here to speak to you."

"_Ara_, indeed?"

Both policemen turned their gazes to me.

"Me?" I said less than brilliantly. I was not at my best in social situations this soon after waking. Reacting to danger I could manage as an act of self-preservation, but a chat was not something that I felt up to handling.

The Inspector turned his body slightly away, as if looking at the window, which was as secured as the ones in my bedroom. I realized a moment later as he turned back that he hadn't been looking at anything, but just shielding the right side of his body from my sight momentarily. I could tell that right away because there was a Navy Colt in his hand when he turned, its barrel leveled at my midsection.

"Miss Kuga, if you would be so kind as to very slowly use two fingers to remove the derringer from your waistcoat pocket and hand it to Sergeant Tate, I believe this conversation could proceed more comfortably for all concerned."

Shizuru gasped.

"Reito, what does this mean?"

The revolver barrel never wavered and his eyes were hard and steady; I glanced at Tate but found no trace of surprise or sympathy there, either. I followed orders, handing over the gun.

"Thank you." Kanzaki put his own gun back into his pocket. "I hope you will forgive me the theatrics, Shizuru, but I have a marked aversion to questioning murder suspects while allowing them to carry firearms." The words could have been light, but his tone and expression absolutely were not.

"Murder?" I yelped. What was he talking about? Had the knife-wielder died when I shot him in Whitechapel? He was the only person I'd gotten into a potentially lethal encounter with, and I supposed even though the shot wouldn't have been instantly fatal he might have died from blood loss or infection. But how would Kanzaki have traced it to me?

"That's impossible," Shizuru insisted at once, her voice shaking. "It's not possible that Natsuki could do such a thing." I think I was almost as amazed at how her usually unshakable calm had been punctured as I was about the accusation itself.

"On the contrary," Kanzaki replied, "Miss Kuga is very much a person of interest in my investigation of the murder of Baron Maupertuis...as well as that of Mr. Robert Merridew."

~X X X~

_A/N: Some Victorian criminal slang here. "Dipping" is pickpocketing, and "cracking a crib" burglary. A "mutcher" is a thief who robs drunks._


	9. Chapter 9

"Merridew's dead?" As responses went, it wasn't exactly brilliant, but it covered my point.

"Yes, Miss Kuga, Merridew is dead. He was found murdered in his garden last night."

"And you think that Natsuki had something to do with it?" Shizuru got to the key issue slightly before me. "Reito, that is absurd!"

Kanzaki ignored her.

"I believe you carry a knife, Miss Kuga? Please let me see it."

"Don't you need a search warrant before you can just start tearing around into people's homes?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, your right boot is not your home, Miss Kuga. I'm entirely within my rights to search a suspect, although if you insist on formality I shall have you arrested and taken to Scotland Yard where a police matron can perform the search."

I sighed and plucked the knife from my boot-top. "Here. Enjoy yourself as much as you want—preferably somewhere where I don't have to watch." I extended it hilt-first; Tate took it and brought it to Kanzaki.

"A six-inch blade," he remarked. "The length is correct, but this is a single-edged weapon." He set the knife down on the breakfast-table. "Still, it does not require a genius intellect to understand that disposing of a bloody murder weapon is useful, and this does show a use of and familiarity with this size blade."

"Kanzaki, are you trying to say that you think _I_ murdered Maupertuis and Merridew? Does your keeper know you walk around with firearms in your pocket?"

"Two men are dead, Miss Kuga. This is not a joking matter."

"Funny you should say that, then, because all I'm hearing are jokes. Very _bad_ jokes."

"Then perhaps you'd like to explain your interest in the late Baron and the Obsidian Court?"

"I haven't got one," I lied through my teeth, "other than that Shizuru has been hired to look into the Baron's murder and I'm playing tag-along as usual."

"Indeed?" he drawled. His expression was scornful, even contemptuous of my attempt at deception, and he wasted no time in telling me why. "Then perhaps you count clairvoyance among your talents, as it has come to my attention that you have been making inquiries among the underworld about the Obsidian Court, Baron Maupertuis, and certain other individuals since just after the New Year. I wish Sergeant Tate knew to start making inquiries for me several months before the actual crime; that would be a valuable aide, indeed."

_How the bloody hell—?_ The thought ended before it had begun, though. Gossip traveled like a thunderbolt, and while I knew that Porlock and a couple of my other sources of information wouldn't betray a client, I'd made searching inquiries and there had been times when I'd had to ask people questions who weren't necessarily trustworthy.

And now it had come back around.

I glared at Kanzaki angrily.

"You don't seriously think that I could have been running around murdering people?"

"It is utterly impossible," Shizuru said flatly. "Natsuki would never do such a thing."

I barely suppressed a flinch at that. It was nice, her confidence in me, but given the circumstances I was in, I could only consider it to be a little misplaced. It made me feel bad for her.

"I want to know what your interest in this business is," Kanzaki barked at me. "What do you know about the Obsidian Court? What did you want to know about Baron Maupertuis?"

"Anything I may have asked anyone is _my_ business, not Scotland Yard's," I shot back.

"This is a murder investigation, Miss Kuga. Don't think that you can keep things hidden—particularly when you happen to be my principal suspect."

"I haven't murdered anyone."

"Reito, look at me," Shizuru interrupted as he was drawing breath for his next rejoinder.

"What is is, Shizuru?" he snarled at her.

"I told you that it was impossible for Natsuki to have committed the crimes. I was not speaking figuratively; she has an alibi."

"What? Who?"

Shizuru's smile returned.

"Me. I do tend to make a good witness. At eleven-thirty the night of the murder, Baroness Maupertuis bid her husband good-night and left him, still alive, in his study. Natsuki returned to Baker Street at half past ten, went to bed not long after, and I can testify that she did not leave here until I myself went to sleep at four in the morning."

"I always wondered if you actually slept," I remarked, but in truth I was damned glad that she didn't. Reito Kanzaki, for his part, didn't look so happy. His posture sagged, defeat coming into his face.

"The police surgeon confirmed Dr. Arbuthnot's finding that the time of death was about one," he admitted.

"You will therefore have to look elsewhere for your murderer."

"What about Merridew? He went out into the garden at eight o'clock, according to his servants. At ten, they became concerned because he had not returned to the house, and went looking for him; they found him dead."

I chuckled.

"You _are_ having a bad day, Kanzaki. From quarter past seven to eight-thirty I was having dinner at Mai's, the restaurant in Limehouse. The proprietor, the waitress, the man I was dining with, and quite possibly several regular customers will be able to testify that I was there. So unless Merridew was strolling around his garden for over an hour before he was killed, it would be impossible for me to have been stabbing him in...where _did_ he live, anyway?"

"Kensington," Shizuru supplied helpfully. "That is even better for you, is it not?"

I couldn't help but smile.

"It just gets better and better for you, doesn't it, Kanzaki?"

"As a matter of fact, the police surgeon suggests that Merridew was killed sometime around half past eight, meaning that you were already alibied before the question of travel time was factored in."

"And now that we have settled that, Reito, would you mind telling me why you would come here at this unseemly hour to accuse my friend and occasional associate of a hanging offense with no better evidence than underworld gossip?" With the question of my continued freedom settled, Shizuru's voice had grown hard and sharp. I could only imagine how she felt; she saw Kanzaki as a colleague and regular client, in a relationship based on mutual respect for each other's abilities, and yet he'd barged into her home and leveled accusations at her friend without hesitation or courtesy. He'd gone so far as to point a revolver at me! Did she feel hurt, somehow betrayed by his actions? Insulted by how what he'd thought reflected on her? Whatever it was, it was the kind of mistake that changed relationships significantly. Even if Kanzaki apologized, something I doubted he'd be very likely to do in any case, things would never be the same between them.

As for me, well, I'd never liked him much anyway, so once I'd gotten over the initial shock and we'd dealt with the danger his accusation offered, things were pretty much where they'd always been. In fact, I was feeling kind of smug at the way he'd been brought up short.

"I still want to know what you were asking about and why," Kanzaki said to me. Apparently I wasn't getting any apologies, either.

"They say learning to live with disappointment is good for you," I snapped back. "Since I'm no longer under suspicion of sticking a knife in Maupertuis's back and Merridew's wherever-he-got-it, I don't see why I should share. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed. Some people actually sleep nights. Your sergeant looks like he could use some, himself."

I made as if to rise, and Kanzaki stepped forward, cutting me off.

"Miss Kuga, can't you see the importance of this? Even if you didn't kill those men, the fact remains that someone did, and that person's reasons and yours might be directly connected. You know something about the Obsidian Court and Baron Maupertuis that we do not, and it's your duty to share it with us."

I glared at him.

"I don't see why."

"Or maybe you think your duty is to your father? You are the daughter of the German industrialist Gerhart Kruger, are you not?"

The glare was replaced by confusion.

"Yes, but...what does my father have to do with anything?"

"You deny that you're working for him?"

"I haven't so much as talked to him since I was five years old! I haven't even had any contact with his representatives since I turned nineteen last August and he ended my allowance. How is _he_ relevant?"

"He lost over one hundred thousand pounds in the collapse of the Netherland-Sumatra Company as one of its principal investors. Even for a millionaire, that must have stung, particularly if he suspected it was a swindle."

"Wait, so you suspected I was his errand girl? Digging up the dirt that the Obsidian Court had manipulated the company as an enormous fraud and then teaching the principals the cost of defrauding a Kruger with a sharp knife?" I gave in and laughed. "Hell, Shizuru's always saying a detective has to have imagination and I guess you must be a good one. I'm sure Barrington couldn't have dreamed up a fantasy like that!"

Kanzaki's eyes narrowed and his frown became even sharper.

"I don't appreciate your mockery, Miss Kuga. Or do you think trying to find the murderer of two men, one a noble and one the son of a noble, is humorous?"

"I don't appreciate being hauled out of bed at four in the morning and accused of those murders on the flimsiest of evidence. I don't appreciate being held at gunpoint by someone who supposedly represents the law, or being humiliated in front of Shizuru."

"The pressure on you must be very serious, for you to come here in this fashion with such scant evidence," Shizuru said.

_Of course!_ The revelation exploded in my head. I should have realized it before now, though the circumstances didn't exactly inspire clear thinking. Certainly the pressure on Kanzaki was great! Why should the Obsidian Court waste time on thugs and cab-drivers whom I could defeat or elude, when they could set the entire machinery of the police on me! Perhaps I was meant to hang—indeed, the First District might even believe that I was guilty of the crimes. Or, more practically, I was meant to not live to stand trial, perhaps to be found a suicide in my cell or the victim of a crime by another prisoner. After all, a jury might find me not guilty despite the Obsidian Court's best efforts. Pressure indeed!

Not that I was all that sympathetic. After all, he had caved in to that pressure. That wasn't necessarily a just attitude on my part; for example, he might even have been directly ordered to arrest me, and would be cashiered for insubordination if he refused. Yet somehow I didn't feel the charitable spirit needed to forgive Kanzaki's actions within me. Funny how that worked.

Kanzaki, for his part, scowled at Shizuru, essentially verifying her deduction.

"They want answers now," he admitted. "Two Obsidian Court members murdered in two days, presumably by the same person or group. I suspect it's making certain people in positions of influence start fingering their watch fobs or cuff links nervously, and wonder if they might be next."

"Unless, of course, it is a matter of the Court dispensing 'justice' against turncoat members and they seek to disguise this."

Part of me wanted to speak up. I knew, as the others did not, that Maupertuis had been an Elder of the society and therefore it was extremely unlikely that he would have been killed as an "inside job." That pointed the finger of suspicion outwards, at someone who, like me, had suffered a wrong at their hands, or perhaps at some rival group in competition with the Obsidian Court for the same victim.

But then again, I realized, that wasn't necessarily true. What if Maupertuis and Merridew had crossed the Obsidian Prince in some way? A palace coup, perhaps—history was full of ministers, chancellors, and subordinate nobles rebelling against their rulers. In that case, dealing out punishment _and_ framing me might have been the plan all along, thwarted only by Shizuru's entry into the case and Kanzaki's long-standing relationship with her.

My head spun. It was all too absurd, this speculation of plot and counterplot! I had no idea how Shizuru could possibly keep this sort of thing straight in her mind; I swore that I needed some kind of chart to try and sort out just who might be backstabbing whom at any given time. Hell, we were still speculating as to just what players even _existed_, let alone knowing their actions.

"Have you investigated the Baron's mistress?" Shizuru was saying. _She_, on the other hand, was clearly in her element, talking shop with the Chief Inspector as if all the unpleasantness was behind them. I glanced at Tate; he grinned sheepishly and shrugged, understanding at once. _Maybe he and I should get together with Yukino Chrysant and form a sidekicks' drinking society!_

"Robin Grayle? Yes, she's an actress at Drury Lane. No Ellen Terry, by the reviews, but with the face and figure to be what she is, a rich gentleman's expensive ornament. We've found no evidence that she's anything else but what she seems. While Baron Maupertuis's death cost her a generous protector, I doubt she'll have trouble replacing him; she didn't make any pretense of particular sorrow at his death beyond mere shock at the news, and I very much doubt that she's a good enough actress to be putting on a brave front. Ah, and she also had an alibi for the Baron's murder: she and a number of theatrical associates attended a party at Rule's Cafe to celebrate a successful opening night of their new play, and it lasted from eleven p.m. until three in the morning. We checked with the witnesses, and their stories agree."

"That ties off one loose end, at least," Shizuru reflected. "Will I be allowed to look at the Merridew crime scene?"

Kanzaki frowned.

"You know my position concerning your involvement in the case, Shizuru," he said. "I may not be able to forbid the Baroness from granting you entry into her home, but you have no such entree at Merridew's."

_That's why she asked you, blockhead,_ I thought, but didn't say. Not right away, at least.

"If you truly did not want me interfering in this matter," she said, keeping her voice mild in a way I wouldn't have been able to do, "then Scotland Yard should not insist on accusing people under my protection of the crime. First my client and now Natsuki; you are making it impossible for me to withdraw from the case in good conscience, even though Natsuki wishes it of me as well."

Kanzaki shot me a suspicious glance. I could easily guess his thoughts: _what is she up to that she wants Shizuru to stay out of it?_ But he wasn't what I was really paying attention to right then. Not when Shizuru had come out with her "under my protection" line. What the bloody hell was _that_ supposed to mean? Under _her_ protection? The Obsidian Court was _my_ problem as she damn well knew (now, at least, given Kanzaki's revelation of my interest). If anything, it was my place to protect her from the consequences of my actions. I certainly hadn't asked _her_ for anything!

I found myself furiously clenching my hands into fists, and I actually had to bite my lip to keep myself from jumping out of the chair shouting at her. Angry as I was, I at least had some sense of place and time; there was no way that I'd be airing my dirty laundry in front of Reito Kanzaki and Tate. The more pragmatic part of my head got a few words in, too, pointing out that I'd do better to wait and listen if I wanted to learn anything useful about Merridew's murder and how it might tie in to my own problems. Following up these crimes was probably my best path to the Obsidian Prince while Porlock was tracking Lautrec.

So I swallowed my tongue. For now.

And if nothing else, Shizuru's declaration did seem to work. Whether convinced by her point or just feeling guilty about the false accusation, he gave in.

"Fine; I'll write you a letter of authority so the constables give you access to the house and crime scene. May I use your desk?"

"Please do," she told him. We'd cleared away all our notes from the code-breaking work, so if he intended to snoop, there was nothing showing. He wrote and signed the letter swiftly and handed it to Shizuru.

"Will that do?"

She read it over, eyes flicking down the pages.

"Oh, yes, that will be fine."

"In which case, we'll be going, since we'll just be wasting our time here, unless"—Kanzaki turned to me—"you're able to see, Miss Kuga, that telling us what your interest in Baron Maupertuis and the Obsidian Court would further the cause of justice."

"I don't think so, no."

"Fine. Just remember that you won't be able to take that attitude forever. There is such a thing as withholding evidence." A snarl on his face, he spun on his heel and marched out the door, Tate trailing in his wake while looking back and forth between Kanzaki, Shizuru, and myself with a puzzled expression. I sort of knew how he felt. Somehow, I didn't think that Kanzaki was likely to confide much in his aide, whether about the pressure he was getting from those in power or anything else. Not that I was any better, but at least I wasn't asking anybody to help me while holding back valuable information from them.

When the door shut behind Kanzaki, though, I knew I was in for it. Oddly, though, I was wrong about that, at least at first.

"How _dare_ he?" Her voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet room as easily as if she'd been screaming. "How _dare_ he come into our home and accuse Natsuki of such things? Of being a murderess?" Shizuru's hands were clenched into fists as they rested on her thighs, and she was, I realized, literally trembling with fury.

_It had actually hit her harder than it had me!_ I thought in amazement. I'd been surprised, scared, then angry, but _she_...

"Shizuru?" I said hesitantly.

"It is beyond bearing!"

"Shizuru?" I repeated.

"I _will not_ stand for—"

"Hey, Shizuru!"

Her head snapped up, her eyes weirdly blank for a second, their crimson hue looking to have gone dull and flat like a drying bloodstain, but then in the next moment she seemed to come back to herself, her gaze focusing on me instead of through me.

"I apologize, Natsuki. I'm so sorry to have brought this down on you."

"For Heaven's sake, Shizuru, this isn't _your_ fault. Sure, you know and work with Kanzaki pretty often, but it's not like you control him. And it's not your fault that I got dragged into this. Trust me, he'd have been knocking on our door even if you'd never taken the Maupertuis case or asked me to help you with it."

"If I'd never—?" She seemed to fade out again for about a half second, which was starting to really worry me. It was _strange_, the way she was reacting, and I realized that there had to be more to it than just the danger to me. The sense of betrayal, maybe, that Kanzaki would be working against me, her friend? Or maybe there was something in what she'd said about "our home"—the fact that he'd barged across our threshold in the middle of the night with his accusations leaving her feeling more of a violation than would otherwise be the case.

"Do you need a cup of tea?" I offered, a little nervously.

She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine for now." She looked up, meeting my gaze. "I really am, Natsuki."

"Not a good way to start the day," I noted.

"No, indeed."

Then, of course, the trouble hit, as I'd originally been expecting. Once her emotional storm had passed, her attention arrowed in on the significant details of the conversation, namely:

"Regardless of his appalling judgment in this instance, Reito is a good investigator and his facts are reliable. You had knowledge of this case before it even _was_ a case."

I didn't say anything. Under the circumstances, I doubted that it would do me any good.

"Is this why you added your voice to his, urging me to drop the investigation?" she went on.

"No."

"No?"

I jammed my hands into my pockets and paced over to the fireplace and back.

"There was a little of that, yes, I admit. Six months ago there would have been a lot more, not wanting you to trespass on my affairs. Now, though..." I yanked a hand out of my pocket and ran my fingers through my hair. "It's what I told you before I went out to meet Porlock. I _know_ how dangerous these people are because I _do_ have prior knowledge of them. This is my problem. It has nothing to do with your case—it's been my problem since before I met you."

My hand went back into my pocket.

"I just don't want to see you hurt, Shizuru, and I couldn't stand it if you were because of something that I dragged you into."

"You did not 'drag me into' the Maupertuis case. Baroness Maupertuis properly hired me as a consulting detective. You had nothing to do with that."

"If I know somebody's dug a pit across a road, and later I hear that you're going to take that road, I'm going to feel guilty if I don't warn you, even though I didn't suggest that you go that way."

Slowly, Shizuru nodded.

"I understand what you mean."

"Then, you'll—"

"_But_," she interrupted me, "to extend your analogy, I may have good reasons for taking that road, since my decision to do so was independent of you, reasons that are more important to me than the danger you warned me of."

"Reasons? What reasons? The employment of a woman who didn't love her husband and who will probably be better off without the bastard anyway? The thrill of solving a puzzling case and the mental excitement you get from it? Your reputation as a great detective? They aren't worth it, Shizuru."

"Are you worth it, Natsuki?"

"Huh?" was my brilliant rejoinder.

"Chief Inspector Kanzaki of Scotland Yard just stormed into these rooms at four in the morning with the intent of arresting you for two murders. He would have done precisely that had you not possessed an alibi—and he will be certain to verify that you were indeed at Mai's at the time you claim. Nor will he be content to let you rest; he will continue to pursue your connection to the case because it may form a relevant part of the whole. The only way to stop him would be to provide the solution and so make your own part an irrelevant footnote."

I wasn't entirely sure that it _was_ irrelevant, but that wasn't the point.

"I'm not worried about Kanzaki, even if he did point a gun at—dammit, they took my derringer! Tate never returned it!" I realized. I quickly crossed over to the table and recovered my knife. "Can I have _them_ arrested for theft? You're a witness, right?"

Perhaps in spite of herself, Shizuru chuckled.

"We shall certainly request its return when we see them next, always assuming, of course, that Natsuki was lawfully entitled to carry such a firearm."

"Or we could consider ourselves all square," I hastily noted, drawing another laugh.

She sobered quickly, however.

"You should be worried; this is a serious matter. Unless you are trying to say that Reito is the least of your worries?"

I didn't answer. Then again, I didn't really need to.

"In that event," she continued, "then it is all the more vital for me to continue the case."

"Shizuru, that—"

"Natsuki, while I understand that you may not wish to confide your long-held secrets to me, and that you may be striving to protect me as best you are able, you need to realize that I am not going to turn my back on you."

"Dammit, it's not your fight."

"Yes, it is," she said placidly but firmly. "My reasons may not be the same as Natsuki's, but they do exist."

"These people are dangerous, Shizuru."

"And were not the Cunninghams dangerous in Reigate when you tore the son's hands from my throat? Or Cairns, or Hope, when we arrested them in these rooms? Did not the Openshaw case involve an equally murderous secret society? How is this different?"

There was no comfortable way to answer her; instead, I stormed to my bedroom door, jerked it open, and stalked inside.

"Because those weren't for _me_," I murmured as I slammed the door behind me.

~X X X~

_A/N: You'll note the names Shizuru lists near the end are from "The Reigate Puzzle"; "The Adventure of Black Peter"; _A Study in Scarlet_; and "The Five Orange Pips," all Sherlock Holmes stories by Conan Doyle. As usual, these represent the "filler" cases solved by Shizuru between stories in this series, several of which have been referred to in earlier EMDN entries._


	10. Chapter 10

Sleep, I decided, didn't do much to soften the attitudes of two very strong-willed women. Shizuru had no intention of changing her mind about pursuing the case, and I equally had no intention of exposing her to my past and the reason why I was hunting the Obsidian Court on my own.

I didn't like it one bit.

This was the first time in our relationship that I'd had a serious disagreement with Shizuru. Oh, we'd had fights before. Indeed, her teasing managed to push me from "flustered" into "irked" at least once a day. And we'd had quarrels, too: her habit of keeping things to herself, my lack of tact and discretion, her refusal to eat properly, my general untidiness, her laziness, my smoking...the ordinary sort of things that can hardly be helped when two spirited people share a small space for any length of time. This argument was something different.

We each wanted to protect the other one from obvious danger. We each had strong reasons for facing that danger. We were both people who, as she'd reminded me, were used to doing so on a regular basis, so it wasn't like one of us was some fragile flower who had no business being anywhere near risks.

There wasn't much room for compromise.

My attempt at sleep hadn't gone well, thanks to all the emotional turmoil (getting held at gunpoint and nearly arrested being most definitely an agitating experience), so it wasn't much of a surprise that Shizuru and I left for Merridew's estate by seven in the morning, without stopping for either breakfast or coffee. Neither one of us, it seemed, wanted to bother Mrs. Hudson after Kanzaki had rousted her out of bed the night before. Of course, skipping meals was considerably easier on certain of us than others, I thought ungenerously every time our cab passed a restaurant.

The plain truth of it was, these personal distractions were the absolute last thing that I needed in my life. Focusing my emotions and awareness on peripheral matters was a wonderful way to end up dead. All my life I'd gone without having any close personal ties, and now I was facing the bad side of allowing Shizuru to break that rule.

It was a measure of where things stood that not a word passed between us until we arrived at Merridew's home, a high, sturdy-looking building of gray stone that put me in mind of certain descriptions of Edinburgh I'd read, although I'd never visited that city and so couldn't comment on their accuracy. A tall man with a fringe of white hair and a reddened nose that looked out of place on his face opened the door; his dark coat and his age suggested that he was the butler.

"I am sorry, madam, but the household is not receiving on account of a death," he solemnly attempted to turn us away.

"That is why we have come," Shizuru said. "My name is Shizuru Viola, and I am a consulting detective working on behalf of Mme. the Baroness Maupertuis." She presented her calling card.

The butler's eyebrows rose, perhaps at the word "detective" or perhaps at the mention of the Baroness.

"Her ladyship has an interest in Mr. Merridew's death?"

"Her ladyship has an interest in her husband's death, which she has retained me to investigate. Surely you can see how the death of his close associate the very night after the Baron's own murder would be of significance? Indeed, I had written to Mr. Merridew last night to request that he speak with me today about the incident."

I had no idea why she was trying to be persuasive with the butler. No, perhaps I did. Having the servants helping freely would bring information more easily and perhaps make them more willing to search their memories for half-forgotten details or admit to facts that might embarrass them. Her taking the slow route made sense. It was standing out in the open, my back exposed to the street, that I didn't like. My neck itched at the exposure, and I flicked my eyes to the left and right, trying to see as much as I could, then half-turned my body towards Shizuru and the butler as if I was paying more attention to their exchange but also opening up my field of vision to considerably more of the street in that direction.

What I saw didn't do anything to ease my nerves.

I have to admit that after Whitechapel two nights ago and Claremont Court yesterday morning, I had cabs on the brain. Kensington was not one of those places; there were respectable houses and shops and hansoms and growlers were not out of place. The driver, I think, was what made it look suspicious. There was admittedly a bit of bite in the April morning air, a last hint of the past winter clinging on desperately, but this driver had a floppy hat pulled down low over his eyes, a caped greatcoat muffling his thin frame with the collar turned up, and a scarf of dull olive wool wound heavily about the lower part of his face. The only thing missing was tinted spectacles.

Had we been followed from Baker Street? Or had the Obsidian Court somehow known that I would come here and had this watcher waiting? If so, how? Strictly because of Shizuru's involvement in the Maupertuis case, or was there something else? Or was the cab there not because of me at all, but because of the murder—two First District members had been killed, after all, and in each case the next morning found a suspicious cab loitering outside the crime scene, so perhaps that explained their presence, not my role in the case.

Or was I just jumping at shadows?

"I am sorry, ma'am; we are all aware that his lordship was a close friend of Mr. Merridew's and I am sure that the master would wish to help her ladyship in whatever way he could. Nonetheless, the household's all at sixes and sevens and without anyone in proper authority until Mr. Merridew's nephew arrives to take charge, and I do not believe we can assist you."

"_Ara_, I see, then it is merely a question of authority. In that case, I believe that I can satisfy you as to our _bona fides_."

She took Kanzaki's letter out of her reticule and handed it over. The butler skimmed the text and nodded before handing it back.

"This puts things in rather a different light, of course. Mr. Hartwell thought it best that we refuse all callers rather than assume the responsibility for any ill caused, but as you have official sanction we will be grateful for the help."

He stepped back, allowing us to enter.

"Who, may I ask, is Mr. Hartwell?" Shizuru said. "Surely Mr. Merridew's solicitor would not have been summoned already to advise in the management of the estate, not at this hour."

The butler shook his head in a slow, ponderous gesture.

"No, miss. Mr. Hartwell is Mr. Merridew's private secretary."

"I see, and quite an assertive one if he so quickly takes charge of matters."

"It was he who found the body, and sent for the police and Mr. Pennyworth, the solicitor, whom as you observed has not yet come and is unlikely to until mid-morning."

"Mr. Hartwell found the body? Then we should begin with him. Please take us to him..."

"Culver, miss."

"Culver."

"Very well. This way; he'll be in the study."

Robert Merridew's study, like his house, was very different in appearance from that of Baron Maupertuis. Absent were the baroque decorations, the red and gilt opulence, replaced by dark wood paneling and solid furniture with an eye to plain functionality and comfort. For all that, though, it was essentially the same type of place, lined with shelves and cabinets and a large desk facing away from the back wall. Rather than windows, this room had French doors leading out into a walled garden. Several file-cabinet drawers were pulled open, and a fresh-faced blond man of twenty-five or so was going through one.

"Are you sure Mr. Merridew would appreciate that?" I asked offhandedly. He flinched, startled; the door had been open and he'd been so intent on what he was doing that he hadn't heard our approach.

"Ladies, this is Mr. Merridew's private secretary, Mr. Charles Hartwell. Mr. Hartwell, these are Miss Shizuru Viola, the consulting detective, and her associate," Culver performed the introductions.

"Natsuki Kuga," I supplied, and saw Hartwell's eyes widen just a hair at the name. Had Merridew, as a member of the First District, mentioned my name to Hartwell—had Hartwell even told Kanzaki that Merridew had feared I was a threat to his life? _No, Kanzaki would have mentioned that, both to make his accusation look better and as a club to get me to talk_, I reasoned.

Hartwell might have known my name for a different reason, though. If Merridew was First District, perhaps an Elder, then he'd likely have a fellow member as his private secretary since his correspondence would regularly deal with Obsidian Court business. My eyes flicked to his cuffs, noting the telltale obsidian triangles, making me wonder—not for the first time—why Obsidian Court members seemed to trumpet their affiliation so openly? Maybe they just assumed that no one else knew the significance of the symbols and therefore they could get away with it?

"My associate's name surprises you, Mr. Hartwell?" Shizuru had not missed his slip.

"I'm surprised that you're here at all. I had given instructions that we were not to have callers." He shot a glare at Culver.

"A sensible precaution, I agree," Shizuru said, "but we have authorization from Chief Inspector Kanzaki to pursue our inquiries here on behalf of Baroness Maupertuis."

"I see." He appeared to mull this over. "Very well; I certainly have no desire to interfere with the Inspector's judgment in this matter. Culver, you may leave us."

"Very good."

He departed, not closing the door behind him which, I realized, was because it had been forced open, the wood around the lock broken and splintered.

"Now," Hartwell said, "to address Miss Kuga's rather presumptuous question, I have been Mr. Merridew's confidential secretary for over two years. I had his absolute trust, or else he would never have allowed me to handle his private correspondence. At this moment I am attempting to make certain that his tragic and needless death does not inadvertently cause something to come to light that would betray his trust and cause harm to innocent persons."

"Such as matters dealing with the Order of the Obsidian Court?" Shizuru asked. We _both_ stared at her in shock, not expecting her to simply toss the name out at once, if at all.

"I don't know what you mean," Hartwell protested with transparent falseness.

Shizuru nodded.

"Of course you would say as much; that is hardly unexpected. But perhaps you will feel more comfortable discussing it with me if I provide certain pertinent facts. The late Baron Maupertuis was in the habit of wearing a distinctive tie-pin which his widow assures me was a mark of his membership in the Obsidian Court. Mr. Merridew was known to wear a pin identical to the Baron's establishing him as a fellow lodge-member. You carry the same mark, though in reversed colors, on your cuff links." I should have guessed that she'd notice that, too. "Indeed, what would be more logical than that Mr. Merridew would turn to another member, already bound by such vows of secrecy as are common to that type of organization?"

I had been keeping a close watch on Hartwell throughout the proceedings, ever since his initial reaction to my name. Secret societies were inclined to inspire fanaticism, and I knew that there were certain groups where an assassin would gleefully give up his or her life or freedom for the chance to take out the target. In other words, while I didn't associate the Obsidian Court's criminal activities with that kind of devotion, there was always the chance that Hartwell might take it into his head to try to kill me with a sudden surprise attack in front of witnesses.

"Miss Viola, I can only admit that I didn't have any idea what it is that you are trying to say. If Mr. Merridew was a member of some fraternal order it would not surprise me, but I certainly have no actual knowledge of such a thing."

Shizuru shook her head.

"So it is to be that way, is it? I am always amazed by the amount of bald-faced lying that people believe that they can get away with. Chief Inspector Kanzaki no doubt saw through your deceptions just as easily. But we can hardly force you to give up your odd insistence on falsehood." She said it all without her usual smile leaving her lips, so it sounded like she was chiding a youngster whose antics amused her. "Will you at the least admit that Mr. Merridew commonly wore a tie-pin that has the same design as your cuff-links, only with the color reversed?"

"Yes, he did," he admitted grudgingly, with a glowering look as if he suspected she was somehow trying to trick some admission out of him.

"Was he wearing it last night?"

"As to that, I could hardly say."

"You did not notice?"

"I was not here _to_ notice," he riposted. "Yesterday was my half-day; I dined out with my fiancee and then we went to the music-hall. I returned home at around quarter to ten, after which I discovered the body."

"By breaking in the study door?"

Hartwell drew himself up pompously, the very picture of offended dignity, in response to my remark.

"My first action upon returning home was to report to Mr. Merridew, so I came to the study. When I found the door locked, I knocked and called out to him. Receiving no answer, I called for the servants and was informed by Willis, the footman, that Mr. Merridew had given orders shortly before eight that he would be in the garden and was not to be disturbed. We looked from the library windows, but could not see any sign of him, so we forced the study door."

_Glad I'll never have to rely on him not to disturb me when asked, _I thought wryly, though not aloud—after all, Hartwell had proven to be right.

"There was no sign of him in here, so we went out into the garden through the French doors."

"In this case 'we' being yourself and Willis?" Shizuru asked.

"Also Culver, the butler," he amended. "We found Mr. Merridew by the fountain, lying on his back. Of course we tried to revive him, but we were horrified to find that he had been dead for some time, a stab wound staining the white of his shirt in the moonlight."

"You have an evocative turn of phrase."

He shuddered.

"It was a monstrous experience, finding him like that. Mr. Merridew was more than an employer; he was a good man who gave me my start when I was in difficulties, took me in, served as my p-patron..."

I wondered how "good" the investors of the Netherland-Sumatra Company had found Robert Merridew, while they were trying to eke out a living after losing their life's savings. Hartwell probably knew this well enough, hence the way he was drawn up defensively. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," and all that.

"So, once you had ascertained that Mr. Merridew had apparently been murdered, what did you do next?" Shizuru kept things on track.

"We returned to the house at once. I...I was going to have us bring his body inside, but Willis suggested that a dead body should not be moved before the police could examine it _in situ_, as it were, and I fell in with that suggestion. As much as it revolted me to leave him lying there, I did not want to do anything which might impede the investigation."

"You did quite rightly. I must ask, however, how it was that the footman knew this."

A trace of a smile, no more than a ghost, flitted across Hartwell's lips.

"He is, it seems, an avid reader of detective stories and other 'penny dreadfuls.'"

"I must apologize, then, for impugning your taste in literature, Natsuki," she said in an aside to me. "It seems that it is providing valuable education to the public." Her eyes twinkled.

"...Idiot."

"So you then sent for the police, Mr. Hartwell?"

"I did. Chief Inspector Kanzaki and his assistant spent much of the night examining the scene and questioning the household; the b-body was taken to the morgue." Gathering himself, he added, "The Inspector announced his intent to make a proper search of the garden when the light permitted, and so posted two constables to make sure it was not disturbed."

"I see. Now, Mr. Hartwell, I apologize if this question upsets you, but did you happen to notice, when you found Mr. Merridew, if he was wearing his tie-pin?"

"Why do you keep going on and on and about his tie-pin? Mr. Merridew is dead, foully murdered, and all you can do is to babble about his jewelry!"

My hackles rose, given Hartwell's flat denials of Merridew and his own involvement with the Obsidian Court he had no right to accuse anyone _else_ of not taking the case seriously. Shizuru must have noticed or sensed my anger, for she touched me lightly on the back of the hand, stilling my outburst before it began.

"My 'going on and on,' as you put it, Mr. Hartwell, is simply due to the fact that try as I might I cannot get you to provide useful information on the point. The issue of the tie-pin is significant because Baron Maupertuis's murderer also stole his tie-pin. If Mr. Merridew's was missing as well, it would establish a definite link between the crimes as well as confirming that the killings were related in some way to the doings of the Obsidian Court. Now, I am not the law, and I cannot force you to talk, but do at least have the courtesy to not accuse me of not taking the case seriously when you know very well that you have already determined that your loyalty to the Obsidian Court outweighs your own desire to see Mr. Merridew's murderer caught."

He stared at Shizuru, positively quivering with emotion, as he wanted to burst into the same kind of anger as I had, except that he didn't have a Shizuru of his own to calm him down. I was a little surprised, too, at how she was driving home the point, slicing him to pieces over it with her tongue. It wasn't at all her way to be like that during her investigations; I'd seen her confront murderers with the evidence of their crimes, unraveling the story piece by piece, and yet never show any temper about it.

I could only guess that the emotions from Kanzaki's intrusion were driving matters; she'd been more agitated than I'd ever seen her and it was continuing now. I knew all too well about how things that hit too close to home could destroy or disrupt a person's ordinary way of doing things. Her personal stake was driving her all that much harder to solve the case, not as a job or an intellectual exercise but something she was concerned with. Hartwell's flat refusal to talk about the Obsidian Court coming so soon after mine couldn't have done her temper any good, either.

"Enough of this," she snapped. "Are those French doors the only way into the garden from the house?"

"Yes; there are several windows looking out into it, but no other door," the secretary stammered out, looking a little bewildered at Shizuru's change of pace.

"And as for any access from outside?"

"There is a garden gate..."

"Is it usually kept locked?"

"Yes." He still looked puzzled.

"Who holds the keys?"

"The gardener has one; he uses it to go in and out between the garden and the servants' entrance, as we could hardly have him tracking mud and carrying vegetables through Mr. Merridew's study. Mr. Merridew has one as well, of course; it's kept in this drawer—"

He broke off as he slid the drawer open and stared into it in surprise.

"Why, it's gone!"

"I suspect that it was taken to the morgue along with everything else in Mr. Merridew's pockets," Shizuru said, "unless he re-locked the gate after he let the murderer in, in which case the murderer either took it away or dropped it on the spot."

Hartwell boggled at her. I confess that I had nearly the same reaction and I hadn't been knocked off-guard by verbal jabs.

"Re-locked? Let the murderer in? What are you talking about, Miss Viola?"

"It's almost certain that was how it happened. Mr. Merridew had an appointment to meet someone, a person whom he did not want known to the servants, or who insisted on secrecy. They came to the garden gate at the appointed time, Mr. Merridew unlocked the gate and let them inside, and was slain. It may have been right away, or it may have been after some discussion, but I suspect the former. The killer came armed, for one thing, and it is not usual for most persons to go about with a knife or dagger when they do not intend to use it." She glanced at me and smiled. Sometimes, I thought the woman could turn anything into a tease! "The connection to Baron Maupertuis's murder is another point. If the tie-pin proves to be missing then it would be clear the killing was premeditated. Of course, Mr. Merridew couldn't have suspected, or else he wouldn't have agreed to meet him or her that way."

She paused a moment, then fixed her gaze intently on Hartwell.

"As Mr. Merridew's private secretary, I presume that you regularly schedule his appointments?"

"Certainly! Managing his business meetings was an important part of my duties."

Shizuru waited for a couple of seconds, and then Hartwell made the connection.

"But I had no idea that he was meeting someone last evening! He must have made the appointment after I left...but the only letter of significance in the evening post was your own." He picked up a letter and envelope in Shizuru's distinctive cream-colored stationery with lavender borders. "That requested an appointment, but for today."

She nodded.

"I had hoped to speak with him about Baron Maupertuis's murder. Unfortunately, it is now too late for that."

Hartwell rallied, a positive smirk coming into place on his features.

"Then you cannot be right about the appointment. Clearly your theory of the crime is flawed."

"On the contrary, it simply means that there is another explanation. Possibly Mr. Merridew was the one to request the appointment, not knowing the killer's true intent. We can easily verify from the other servants if he had them post any letters or send a telegram. Secondly, the meeting might have been personal rather than of a business nature, in which case he would have no reason to tell you. Or, of course, he might simply have kept it from you for some reason or another," she finished with a final jab at his vanity.

"Or it might have been _with_ you," I noted. "We've only got your word that you were at the music-hall. You could have arranged to meet him, snuck back, and when you had him alone killed him while everyone thought you were out of the house. Your fiancee isn't the best choice of alibi, since people in love often lie for their beloved. Maybe the Obsidian Court is cleaning up loose ends from embarrassing financial dealings; having the Honorable Robert Merridew exposed as a common garden-variety stock swindler wouldn't do anyone any good."

I thought that was pretty good for an off-the-cuff theory by someone who wasn't a detective. Apparently, Hartwell thought so, too.

"You bitch!" he howled. "How _dare_ you—?" Whatever else he had to say was cut off by a strangled growl of rage and he leapt for my throat with outstretched hands!


	11. Chapter 11

I'd already been on guard against some kind of attack by Hartwell, so the only part that took me by surprise was the secretary's mad rush instead of him producing a weapon. My hands came up in a guard position, my weight shifting to put me in the best position to counter his charge.

It never came to that.

To get to me, Hartwell had to brush past Shizuru, and as he did her hands flew out, fastening on his wrist and shoulder. She did something with her foot as well, and in the next instant Hartwell's back was slamming into the study carpet, the man himself letting out a grunt of pain. I was forcefully reminded that Shizuru was an adept of the obscure martial art of _baritsu_ and well capable of defending herself. She stared at him, her face inches from his, while she continued to apply pressure to his arm.

"Do not _ever_ attempt to harm Natsuki again," she said in a low, flat voice. I would have added "or else" to that, but she didn't. On the other hand, Hartwell didn't ask. He just nodded, and after another pause Shizuru released him, rose, and stepped back. Hartwell got back to his feet with considerably less grace, using the desk to pull himself upright. His hand was actually a little too close to a brass-hilted paper-knife for my comfort, but it seemed that Shizuru had knocked any ideas of that sort out of his head for the moment.

"I wouldn't betray Mr. Merridew," he half-pleaded, half-whined at us, rubbing his shoulder. "I couldn't possibly...I owe him everything, more than I could ever repay. I was a ruined man, without work, on the edge of poverty, and he took me in, gave me this job, extended his trust, sponsored me as—" He broke off, obviously having been about to mention the Obsidian Court. "As...as a member of his club," he hastily tried to cover up. "There was a bond between us that I never would have broken, never!"

"And yet you refuse to fully cooperate in finding his killer?" Apparently his pleas had affected her; Shizuru's voice was softer than it had yet been with him, almost kindly.

"The police have this case in hand," he said. "I trust the Chief Inspector to solve the crime—_whomever_ may be responsible." He shot a look at me.

"Natsuki has already been questioned and proven to have an alibi," Shizuru said. "Yet I do find it interesting that _you_ would know of this suspicion, obtained via police work."

Hartwell had as good as told Shizuru, I realized, that the Obsidian Court had provided Kanzaki with my name—that what I'd already deduced about the pressure his superiors were applying, she now was deducing, too.

"Your friends in the Obsidian Court would not be happy that you admitted their involvement in trying to direct the investigation. It makes me wonder if Natsuki's supposition about the order being responsible for executing its own might not be correct, even if you yourself were not the instrument they chose."

"That isn't possible," he snapped. "I don't know why you keep insisting on this...this _fantasy_ of a secret society. It's like something out of a bad melodrama."

"As are your repeated refusals. Now, leave us. If you cannot help us, then we will have to rely upon the evidence."

"I'm not going to stand by and let the two of you ransack Mr. Merridew's private papers!"

Shizuru was not in the least impressed by his protests.

"We are here with official permission. You have no authority in this house. If you persist, I will have you forcibly ejected and then press charges for obstructing justice."

Emotions warred on his face as he considered further resistance, then his right arm, the one Shizuru had attacked before, twitched and he gave way with very bad grace.

"I won't forget this. We'll see who's pressing charges when all this is over!" With a hate-filled gaze, he backed out of the study, and went scampering off down the hall.

"Could you really have had him arrested?" I asked.

"I very much doubt it. We are not representing the police, just here on their sufferance. I could request one of the constables in the garden to remove him and if he fought the constable, that might do for an indictable offense, or if he repeated his attack on you."

"Constables?" I glanced out through the French doors and indeed saw a uniformed bobby standing sentry in the garden. "Oh, yes, Hartwell did say that Kanzaki stationed a couple of them here. I definitely wouldn't let them handle the 'forcible ejecting,' though. Bad enough I miss a chance to you; there's no way I'm letting _them_ get one up on me."

Shizuru chuckled.

"Natsuki is jealous over losing her chance to inflict violence?"

"Against a fellow who as good as accused me of murder? Twice? Oh, yes. But...um...thanks. For stepping in."

"I could not simply stand by and watch him attack you," she said. "Although I am sure that you could have easily handled him."

"Just don't get hurt doing it."

"This is my investigation and you are my guest. I could not forgive myself if _you_ were hurt helping _me_."

"More like we're helping each other, since Kanzaki was up accusing me of it before either of us even knew the man was dead."

"That is a point. Natsuki clearly has a connection to this case, and just like Mr. Hartwell, refuses to discuss it."

"Hey, at least I'm not lying to your face about it; I'm just not telling you because it's private. There are very bad people and I don't want you to be hurt because of me, either." I sighed heavily. "Look, let's not have this fight again, all right?"

She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.

"All right, Natsuki."

"So what can we figure out? Who was Merridew meeting? And how did he get Merridew to let him into the garden? I mean, if the man was spooked enough to stay away from his club, he wouldn't let himself be alone with just anyone. Are you sure it wasn't Hartwell? I kind of like my 'slip back while everyone thinks he's out' idea."

"I don't rule it out; he certainly would be someone that Merridew would trust in his presence, and their close relationship provides an additional potential for motive above and beyond what their connection with the Obsidian Court might provide. His alibi is troublesome, and Reito will have his constables and Tate pursuing it, not merely with Hartwell's fiancee but anyone else who may have seen them such as the maitre'd' or waiters at the restaurant where they dined."

"You're going to let them handle that?"

She directed a faint smile at me.

"It always bothers Natsuki when I leave such matters to the official force, even though with their bulk of men they are best suited for such legwork, does it not?"

"I do n—" I began, then realized that I wasn't telling the truth. "That is—I mean—" I gave up and sighed. "It's not that I object, just that it doesn't feel right for the brilliant private analyst to let the police do all the work."

"Natsuki thinks that I am brilliant?" she pounced on my thoughtless adjective choice. I blushed faintly.

"There's no shame in saying the obvious, is there?" I shot back, and this time it was _her_ cheeks that went faintly pink.

"In any case, there is no brilliance—or analysis, for that matter—in running down a number of people who are not hiding and have no reason to lie; it is merely a matter of man-hours, and as they have more people to use they can accomplish the job much more efficiently. Where I may be of use is in reasoning from the collected data."

"I know, I just don't like the aesthetics of it; it doesn't tie up the narrative neatly when you make deductions and then let Kanzaki go dig up the proof and make the arrest."

"It would be useful to know whether Merridew's tie-pin was missing like Baron Maupertuis's was. That would firmly tie the crime to the Obsidian Court. I shall have to check with his valet to see if he was wearing it, then inquire at the morgue if it was found among his effects. I think it likely that it will be found missing, though."

"Because he was killed the day after Maupertuis?" I asked, looking through the desk drawers.

"That would be suggestive, but I have a more tangible reason for thinking so."

"What?"

"Reito is aware of the significance of the Baron's missing tie-pin. When he threatened your arrest, he connected the two cases, and, if the killer had taken the matching tie-pin it would be the most obvious and definite link."

"True—hello, I think I just confirmed your meeting theory."

"Oh?"

I pointed into the drawer I'd just opened. Shizuru stepped over and glanced down at the .38-caliber Webley revolver sitting on a stack of papers inside.

"He's scared for his life, forting up at home. He has a weapon ready to hand and he doesn't take it with him while he's out in the open, relatively exposed. Which is stupid, anyway, though coming from me that might not necessarily be a really valid opinion—"

"You do tend to have at least one firearm on your person at most times. Even when we went to see _Cosi fan tutte_ you had your derringer in your reticule."

"I figured I might need to put myself out of my misery. Mozart was Austrian; he should have been writing in German! At least Wagner I can understand. Anyway, so I'm assuming Merridew wasn't so used to carrying a gun for it to be automatic, but he'd have taken it if he was at all afraid of the person. Instead, he peacefully strolled out to meet his end."

Shizuru nodded.

"I shall have to check with the servants as to whether he locked the door himself. If he did not, then likely the murderer did, just as in the Maupertuis case, in order to insure privacy while he or she did something here. Unfortunately, Hartwell's actions have largely obscured what that might have been."

"Kanzaki should have put a constable in here," I grumbled.

"I wish that he had, but I suspect that he did not because he was able to examine the scene fully for himself last night. The garden is another matter as many clues might be missed in the darkness, but artificial light would suffice here. He was not interested in preserving the scene for _my_ benefit the way he would in a case he'd employ me to solve."

"Yeah, I take your point, Shizuru, but I still don't like it—oh, hey, wait a second!"

"Oh? Natsuki has an idea?"

"Maybe a piece of one. Look at the fireplace. It's been allowed to burn down, but there must have been a fire yesterday or else the servants would have cleaned it. And the ashes..."

Shizuru nodded, and we both crossed to the fireplace. Even the embers had gone out, and we quickly but carefully sifted through the ashes.

"You were right," she confirmed what I saw. "Someone did burn a paper or papers here, except that unlike Trepoff in the Odessa case, they made a thorough job of it." Only the tiniest scraps among the ash even gave that much away; it would be impossible to tell what they'd originally been a part of. "The question is, was it Merridew or his murderer who disposed of these documents? There is no way to tell as yet."

"It could be whatever message the killer sent to Merridew, if there was one," I suggested.

"Quite possibly. We shall have to question the servant who brought in the evening post to see if what is here actually is all that Merridew received, and also if any telegrams or hand-delivered messages came."

"Well, we may not be finding any answers," I said sarcastically, "but at least we're finding quite a few questions."

"These are important first steps. Now, let us see if these file cabinets reveal anything of significance."

Merridew's files, we quickly saw, pertained to his business dealings. More than likely there were several motives for murder in there, given the shady or outright criminal dealings the Obsidian Court tended to get up to, the lives ruined by collusive practices on the Exchange, but it would take hours to go through all of them and financial expertise to make sense of them. There definitely weren't any conveniently-labeled files on Baron Maupertuis or the Obsidian Court, as was only to be expected.

"There's no way we can go through all of this," I said, "or to tell what, if any of it, is relevant."

"I agree; this is police work, although it provides a resource with which to compare suspects, if we should happen to find any." She sighed and pushed the door shut. "Perhaps we shall have better luck when we search the garden."

We didn't. The constables accepted Kanzaki's letter of authority well enough and showed us where the body had been found at the side of a circular fountain, but the stone-flagged paths took no footprints and showed no marks. The gate was as Hartwell suggested; while the walls could of course be crossed by a person with a ladder or similar tools, it wasn't likely that some third party had intruded. There was nothing to suggest that Shizuru's deductions were incorrect.

The servants proved to be no more help. The footman who'd brought in the evening post had not particularly noticed any of the letters and so could not say if any were missing from Merridew's desk. There had been no telegram or hand-delivered message, and although he had had a couple of letters posted, the servant who had done so could not recollect their direction. The valet confirmed that the gold-and-obsidian tie-pin was not among Merridew's jewelry and that the dead man had been wearing it that evening, but no one could say if he'd had it or not after his death.

"So basically," I concluded as we prepared to leave the house, "we're in the same place where we were this time yesterday on the Merridew case. You've been able to deduce _how_ the crime happened, but don't have any evidence as to who or why. Though I'll bet that when you check at the morgue, you'll find that tie-pin gone."

"Which, if so, leaves us both better and worse off than we were after the Baron's death. Better, because we would establish that the two crimes are connected, so that the evidence from either applies to both. Worse, because in the case of the Baron we knew that Mr. Merridew was an important person who likely knew at least some of what was happening. Here, we have only Hartwell, who clearly intends to be as unhelpful as possible."

She _didn't_ glance aside at me or give it away with her expression, but I still felt the faint prickle of guilt anyway as I knew that she was thinking of how I, too, was being unhelpful. I stifled the feeling sharply. Shizuru's life was worth more than the solution to this case, and it would be better for everyone if she'd just back off. Besides that, I legitimately didn't have any knowledge of the type that would help her. Yes, I knew what Porlock had told me, and the things I'd learned myself, but they didn't answer the question of who might have killed Maupertuis or Merridew. At best, it filled in some background details of the case.

The thought lightened my spirits. After all, if I genuinely couldn't be of help to Shizuru, then I wasn't really doing my friend a disservice, was I? I wasn't splitting my loyalties. I felt distinctly better from the realization as we left the Merridew house, though the frustration that I also hadn't _learned_ anything useful was still there under the surface.

The cab that had caught my attention before was still there, hours after we'd come in, with its driver still muffled up despite the way the day had warmed up as the morning had given way to noon. I frowned, my suspicions confirmed.

"Does Natsuki wish to stretch her legs again?" Shizuru offered playfully. Under the circumstances I considered saying yes, but then it hit me: I didn't actually know that the watcher was planning a trap. On the contrary, he might have been just what I called him, a watcher, assigned to trace my movements or Shizuru's or both. And whichever he was, he was someone who had information: what his orders were and who'd given those orders. He might just have been another of Lautrec's men, but even if so he might know where I could find Lautrec—and who knew? Perhaps instead of just being an "Orphan," he might answer directly to the Obsidian Prince's Herald?

_After all_, I thought, _it was members of the Obsidian Court, not hired thugs, who murdered my mother. Perhaps they've decided to do me the same courtesy._

And even if a trap was intended, then a trap based on surprise would hardly shine in effectiveness when its intended victims knew damned well that it _was_ a trap and weren't going to be the least bit surprised by any attempt to decoy us off our route.

"No," I decided, "I think I've been standing up enough while we were running around the house."

"I see. Very well, then."

Shizuru raised her hand and beckoned to the cab. The driver responded to her summons at once, setting the horses in motion and pulling forward. The cab began to roll ahead, but instead of simply driving towards us, it continued to pick up speed until it crashed in on me that the driver was trying to run us down!

I was stupefied for a moment, caught off-guard by the sudden and complete reversal of my half-formed plan, so that I stared like a bird caught by the eyes of a snake as death bore down on me. Then I felt Shizuru's hand on my arm and the spell broke. We hurled ourselves aside as the carriage raced past, hooves and wheels clattering on the brick paving. I rolled onto my back, hand plunging inside my jacket to close around a revolver butt in case a second try was forthcoming, but the driver seemed to realize that his bolt was shot, for the cab kept right on going, leaving us staring after it in the wake of the near-miss.

I said something not suitable for Shizuru's ears.

"He _was_ trying to kill us," she said, "so I think that was not an inappropriate comment."

I blushed faintly on being called on my language.

"Us, or one of us at least," I murmured. So now I knew—not a watcher, or a trap, but an assassin waiting for a chance. And now I had to wonder: I knew that I was a target, but was Shizuru one, too?

I clambered to my feet, then extended a hand to help Shizuru up; her dress was now liberally spattered with street-grime while still hampering her movements.

"Did you notice? That was the same cab that was waiting for us in Claremont Court yesterday morning, the one that you were trying to avoid."

"Trying to—ah, I guess I didn't fool you at all?"

"It was not your best effort," she mentioned mildly, forbearing to state just how pathetic the whole "I feel like walking" routine had been.

"But it was the same cab? How could you tell?"

"The driver's build, coat, and hat were identical and the horses are the same, right down to the white sock on one's left foreleg."

"And you saw all that in a glimpse across the street and while it was trying to run us down?"

"Well, Natsuki seemed to determined to avoid it that I thought it worth taking careful note of as much as I could see. Now, of course, the cab can be traced."

"A skinny driver and a brown horse with a white sock? That isn't a lot to go on to find one growler among all the ones in London."

"_Ara_, that is in fact true. But I think it will help that I noticed the number place as it was driving off; it was cab number 1319. It is a very definite break in the case."

"You're going to hunt down the cabdriver? But he just tried to kill us!"

She looked at me quizzically.

"I believe that is the point of finding him."

"No, I mean—" _Gah! What _do _I mean?_ Did I want her to avoid the driver because he was a killer and might try again if found? Yet what if he _hadn't_ just been after me? What if Shizuru was also a target now, because she'd gone to both Maupertuis and Merridew's houses? Shouldn't that mean she should solve the case as fast as possible? The conflicting emotions were driving me crazy!

"First, however," Shizuru continued, "we need to go home."

"Why? What's at home?"

She looked me up and down, then down at herself.

"A change of clothing, Natsuki. We're filthy."

~X X X~

_A/N: What's _baritsu_, you say? I'd answer that, but actually, I already did over in the Author's Note for "Hidden Depths," so you can go check it out there...and hey, while you're there, you can read the story, too, if you haven't already...or even if you have!_

_Some of the usual Victorian trivia here: I think I've mentioned this before, but a "growler" is a small, four-wheeled, closed cab where the driver sits up front. It's the other type of carriage-cab besides the hansom, which is better known in Sherlockiana. And while I said right up front in "Elementary, My Dear Natsuki" that I was not going to be paying keen attention to period idiom, I can point out that one expression Natsuki uses—"driving me crazy"—is not an anachronism! I actually came across it in _Varney the Vampyre_, which is from the 1840s!_


	12. Chapter 12

A clean kimono and a cup of tea were all it took to rejuvenate Shizuru's spirits. I was a little bit harder, but Mrs. Hudson's roast chicken was more than enough to set me to rights. Even Shizuru ate; if not heartily.

"It's too bad," I mentioned while we ate, "that you don't have a troop of street urchins in your pay. Those children are basically invisible, and can go anywhere in the city. They'd have that cab for you within a day even if you didn't have the number. Though I suppose that since you _do_ have the number it won't take any significant time anyway."

"Very likely not. That was an inspired idea, Natsuki. Do you have experience using such children as informants?"

"Once in a while, nothing consistent. It was really Mikoto's stories that put it into my head."

"Mikoto? The girl at Mai's?"

"Yeah. She ran wild in the streets for a couple of years before Mai took her in. The kind of things she did made me think of how useful someone like that could be for a detective, doing legwork and similar errands."

"That's so sad," Shizuru said, obviously meaning Mikoto's situation rather than my idea. "I'm surprised that she didn't have any family to take her in."

"Well, from what I understood, her grandfather died on the boat over, and her parents had died back home in Japan."

"I see," she said, nodding. "It is a classic problem faced by immigrants, who seek a new opportunity in a new country where one might not exist at home, and yet often have to cut themselves off from their past in order to reach for that chance."

"Were you thinking of yourself?" I asked. She looked at me, startled.

"W-what was that, Natsuki?"

"I was just thinking that what you said applied to you, too. I mean, you and your siblings all scattered to different places around the world, so I thought that maybe you were thinking about that." I half-turned away, crossing my arms over my chest, ferociously embarrassed over having probed into her private feelings without invitation. I didn't blame her for being nonplused; I'd just gone crashing over the line we kept between our friendship and our personal selves, and I hadn't even done it out of concern the way she had in asking about the Obsidian Court. I'd just spoken up casually, without thinking.

Nearly half a minute passed.

"...I was actually thinking about my parents."

"Eh?"

"Well, for the opportunity of marrying my father, my mother gave up her home, her family, her culture, her religion, everything that she had known since her childhood. Nor would there be any going back if things went wrong. She had betrayed her family by her actions, and she would not be welcome if she ever regretted her choice. And my father, for his part, while he had not cut himself off from his culture the was she had, he did turn his back on family, job, social position, almost everything that defined his existence, to marry a foreign woman, so that even in the future his family would always be different from their neighbors whether surrounded by his race or hers."

"But...they're happy, right? That's what you told me."

Shizuru nodded.

"Oh, yes. They are still besotted by each other after nearly thirty years. The power of it is frightening, sometimes...the courage that it gave them to face and conquer all that was arrayed against them. The single-minded pursuit of that love is almost akin to a kind of madness." She toyed with her teacup. "I sometimes wonder if that is why so many of the famous love stories are tragedies."

I snorted.

"If you ask me, it's because writers took forever to realize that you could be happy without being funny. Good comedy's a heck of a lot tougher to make immortal than good tragedy because so much of the humor is based on time and place."

"Is that the opinion of the writer?" Apparently my sally had done its primary job of raising her spirits, because there was a hint of the tease in her voice. But that was safer ground than confessions of feelings and worries about love, and I steered that way willingly.

"Yeah. I mean, what are the classic Greek plays? Tragedy and comedy. And Shakespeare? Tragedy and comedy. Sure, nowadays you get a little melodrama tossed in to the mix, but that's done strictly to entertain, often on the shallowest level possible. 'Happily ever after' is from books of fairytales, like it can only be tolerated if the underlying work isn't too serious or important. Too damn many tortured artists writing tortured works to treat love seriously."

"You have strong opinions on this matter."

"You're the one who's always sympathetic to people acting out of love. Maybe you're just rubbing off on me."

She smiled at me and sipped tea.

"Perhaps I am."

"Although I—was that the bell?"

Shizuru nodded.

"Yes, it was."

"I suppose it would be too much to ask for it to be Kanzaki slinking back to apologize," I muttered, making Shizuru giggle.

In fact, it turned out to be the boy with a telegram for me. I tore it open and read the message, which was simple.

_From: Yvette Helene_

_To: Natsuki Kuga_

_It's ready._

My heart skipped a beat, which it really shouldn't have. "It" was just a tool, after all, when you got down to it—and a tool that I didn't yet have a place to use, besides. But it felt like something more to me—a symbol, perhaps, of a path chosen or a course charted, that kind of thing.

_That's what I get for discussing love and tragedy instead of just enjoying my luncheon. It messes with my head!_

"Is there a reply, miss?" the boy asked.

"What? Oh, yes." I took the reply blank and scribbled down a quick response: W_ill be by today without fail_, then sent the boy off with a tip.

"Is it an important matter?" Shizuru asked.

"Yes; I'm going to have to let you find that cab's number yourself." I shoved the telegram into my pocket.

"Will you be gone long?"

I shook my head.

"No; Mlle. Helene's shop is in Bond Street."

"Despite which, and despite her French name, I deduce that you do not have an urgent appointment with your dressmaker."

I rolled my eyes at her joke.

"No, I most definitely do not." A thought struck me and I grinned. "Actually, if you wanted to know more about her, you should ask Mrs. Hudson. As it so happens, they're friends."

"Indeed?" For once, I'd genuinely managed to surprise her. "Our landlady has introduced you to a contact?"

"Our _long-suffering_ landlady has hidden depths." I walked over to the door, then paused with my hand on the knob. "Shizuru..."

"Yes?"

"If you're gone when I get back, out on the investigation or whatever, would you leave a message for me so I can join you?"

She blinked at me. Had I surprised her again? Maybe I had; I'd surprised myself by saying it.

"All right, Natsuki."

I went out.

~X X X~

London was not the American West, I thought as I opened the shop door, causing a cluster of bells to ring a tinny chime. Firearms—particularly handguns—were simply not a part of the culture. Weapons were for military or sporting use; police constables patrolled the streets unarmed but for truncheons and even hardened criminals more often than not eschewed revolvers for knives and bludgeons. I'd had experience of that myself, both in Whitechapel and with the watchers in Limehouse.

It was almost ironic, really; the one armed policeman I had encountered was Chief Inspector Kanzaki, who carried a revolver especially to deal with a suspected criminal well-known to be the exception to that rule: me!

Gunsmiths, therefore, particularly private ones, were relatively rare. There was a place for their expertise, of course, but it wasn't a particularly large niche. I considered myself lucky to have found Mlle. Helene's. I wouldn't have, not without Mrs. Hudson's help. I'd been grousing about needing work done on one of my .32s about five months ago and she'd put me on the track (I think her exact words had been, "Look, Natsuki, I'll tell you where you can get the work done by someone you can trust to do it right if you'll just stop _sulking_ like that! It's bad enough I have to deal with _her_ fits and starts without you adding to them!"). Apparently, the Frenchwoman was an old boarding-school friend of hers.

A female gunslinger and a female gunsmith. It worked for me.

"Mlle. Helene?" I called out. A moment later, she emerged from her workshop in back, a tall woman with dark brown hair and a pleasant face. As always, she'd accented her appearance with lip rouge and, I suspected, other cosmetics, even though she wore a utilitarian gray dress underneath a white, apron-like smock that was scarred by oil and grease stains, tool scratches, and even burns.

"Ah, good afternoon, Miss Kuga. I'm surprised; I only sent that wire barely an hour ago." She paused, looking at me with an assessing, measuring stare. "Now that it comes to it, I'm not at all sure that I like the sound of that."

"What, that I'm excited about this?"

She frowned.

"You came for my work right away. That means that you need it urgently, and if you have an urgent need for it, then you are planning to _use_ it."

Her accent was very light; I had more trouble with the dialect of some of my fellow English than her. She left no room for misunderstanding her meaning. I met her gaze steadily.

"Did you think I wanted it for a souvenir when I asked you if you could make the thing? You're not a child, Mlle. Helene, and while you might _make_ something for the fun and challenge of it, I certainly wouldn't be paying for you to do that."

She nodded.

"_Oui_, I know, I know." Like Shizuru, she sometimes slipped into her native tongue for emphasis's sake. "And a gun, it has only one purpose: to kill."

"In function, yes, but you can use one for a lot more than that, to attack or to defend, to protect or to threaten. A gun is just a tool."

She didn't waver; I had to give her credit for that.

"A gun generally, yes. But what you wanted...no, it does not enhance the ability to protect, to use the weapon in self-defense. _Non_." She shook her head sharply. Now, it seemed, that her accent, too, was growing stronger as she became more agitated. "There is only one thing this device will help you to do better, and that is to kill secretly, kill without detection."

Of course, she was right. As I said, she wasn't a child.

"Let's cut to the chase. Are you going to sell me the bloody thing or not?"

She held my gaze for another long moment, then reached under the counter and brought up a small packet the length of my hand, wrapped in brown paper.

"If it were not that you rent from Moira Hudson, I would not. She tells me that you are a good person, though, despite your harsh exterior, so I am going to trust that whatever it is that you are up to, there are justifiable reasons for it."

I didn't know how I felt about my landlady and my gunsmith discussing my innate goodness or lack thereof. Shizuru was quite enough of a problem keeping my secrets from all by herself, thank you very much.

"Thanks," I settled on, since now was hardly the time for that discussion.

"I've tested the design," she continued. "I can guarantee the effect for the first shot, and the second is more likely than not as well. If you're lucky, you might even get a third off before it breaks down completely, although that last time it would be with reduced effect."

"I see," I mused, then shrugged. "Even two shots is two more than I'd have without it. That may make all the difference."

"If you have any worries about the fit, you needn't. I carefully fit it to the same make and model weapon as your own. I presume that you haven't made any modifications that I don't know about?"

"None," I said. "I let the professionals handle that for me."

She smiled slyly, looking a little bit like Shizuru, at that remark. Maybe the smile was a Continental thing? No, Mlle. Helene didn't have the same kind of mystery to hers.

I took out a small drawstring pouch into which I'd already put the purchase price. The money was in gold rather than notes—banknotes could be traced by their numbers and if the worst happened and I was taken or killed in the act I didn't want Yvette Helene to be found and dragged down with me. It rang as I dropped it on the counter; she slipped it into a pocket of her smock without counting or even glancing at the contents. The repetition of Porlock's response to my similar payment left me touched by her trust; apparently I was a trustworthy person in business affairs. I reached for the package.

"Miss Kuga." She laid her hand lightly on mine as I started to pick up my purchase. My eyes flicked down to her fingers, then up to meet her gaze. "We're trusting you, Moira and I."

I understood what she meant. She wasn't expecting me to abide by the law. She wasn't saying, _we trust that you won't shoot at anybody_, but rather, _we trust whomever you're planning to kill deserves it._

It reminded me of what Porlock had said at Mai's, when he'd thought that I might have killed Maupertuis. The difference was that he made his living in the shadows of the criminal underworld and the gray markets. It was only to be expected that he'd make his stand based on his personal code, not the law. Miss Helene was an honest tradeswoman but she, too, was agreeing with him.

"I understand."

She let go, and I walked out of the shop.

While in a way I appreciated what she'd done and the trust that my morality was in the gray area rather than the pure black, I wished that she hadn't said anything. All her talk about trust, and the question of whether killing was something that could be justifiable, just brought me right back around to my mother. Was murdering Saeko Kuga justifiable? If seen in the cold light of facts, would Fred Porlock and Yvette Helene nod at Mother's killers and say they'd lived up to a trust? If so, then what did that make me? That in turn brought me right back around to think of Shizuru.

_Damn it, this is not about her!_

Wasn't it, though? Before I'd met her last August, I wouldn't even be thinking about whether my desire for revenge was justifiable. It wouldn't have mattered what my mother was or wasn't, just that she'd been violently taken from me. I'd spent my whole _life_ working towards this! And now, now that I was finally drawing close to finishing it all, I was doubting? Hesitating?

_Because of her._

I'd watched her at work all these months, fighting for justice with all her considerable intellect. She'd help the victims of crime, protect those falsely accused, and bring the guilty to justice. I knew that she'd sympathize with me, but as for condoning murder? No, not that. She'd sympathized with Sergay Trepoff, too, in the Odessa case, when he took revenge for the murder of his fiancee. She'd argued for clemency, to help spare him the noose, but she'd never tried to suggest he wasn't guilty or should be allowed to go free. I couldn't help but compare him to Draycott in the case of Colonel Warburton's madness, who though equally responsible in a moral sense for the death of his enemy had not taken that last step of actually killing him with his own hands. He had allowed justice, rather than vengeance, to take its course.

My time with Shizuru had made me aware that there was a line between those two things—no, that wasn't right. I wasn't stupid, after all. I'd always known that there was a difference. It was just that Shizuru had taught me to care.

I wondered if I would get the chance to answer those questions before it was all over, to stand before the Obsidian Prince with full knowledge of the truth and decide what was to be done. There were a lot of reasons why I might not. The truth of my mother's murder wasn't necessarily going to be available to me. I might be driven to kill to save my own life rather than get to make any kind of moral decision.

Or I might just be killed before I could do anything.

I'd been lucky so far in surviving the ambush in Whitechapel through my natural caution of arriving early, suspecting that Mai's would be watched and so removing the lookouts before they could summon help, noticing the cab in Mayfair, and thanks to Shizuru dodging the carriage in Kensington. Caution, intelligence, observation, and plain dumb luck had all played their parts. Sooner or later, one of those was liable to slip.

It was in this somber frame of mind that I returned to Baker Street. Shizuru was out, but she'd done as I requested and left a message saying that she'd gone out to track down the owner of cab No. 1319 and expected to be back by four. I felt a shiver pass through me; the fellow had already nearly killed us once and she was deliberately seeking him out by herself. _You were supposed to tell me where I could join you!_ I railed silently.

With nothing to do but wait, I went into my bedroom, got the pistol out of my night-table drawer, and sat down on the bed. I unwrapped the package from Mlle. Helene's shop, revealing a rough wooden box. I opened it and removed my purchase from its bedding of cotton wool, then attached it to the weapon. As she'd said, it was a perfect fit. I wished I could go to the shooting gallery and fire a few dozen rounds to accustom myself to the weight, the gun's changed balance, as well as the effects the customization would have on accuracy or penetrating power, but that would be impossible. As it was, I had to content myself with getting used to the feel of it in my hand, the added weight at the end of the barrel, practicing drawing and aiming. It wasn't second nature like with my .32s—indeed, the gun itself wasn't—but then again I wasn't planning on using it for any pinpoint sniping at the outer edge of its range.

Satisfied, I removed the device and replaced it in its box, then put both it and the gun away in the drawer. At least that was ready to put to use. I only wondered if I would get the chance.

~X X X~

_A/N: Interestingly, the scene where Natsuki pays Youko...er, Yvette...Helene which repeats how she paid Porlock, was actually a more-or-less _exact_ repetition the first time I wrote it. In fact, I actually wrote this version first, because this was one of the scenes I wrote ahead of time (you'll meet another one in Chapter 19). So, when I came around to typing up _this_ chapter, I realized that I'd already done the same basic routine in Chapter 7, and that I needed to allude to it or else come off looking like Dezo the Idiot Author. But it works out—after all, Natsuki's clearly the kind of person who'd play straight with her contacts as anyone who knows her for five minutes could tell._

_The "children as informants" bit is, of course, a reference to the Baker Street Irregulars, whom Sherlock Holmes uses for tracking down information in various stories, including the very first, _A Study in Scarlet_. Useful assistants, they are here reduced to only an in-joke._


	13. Chapter 13

"Natsuki, I have it!" Shizuru declared enthusiastically as she came through the door only five minutes past four. I looked up from _The Mystery of a Hansom Cab_, which I thought appropriate for the situation. It was one of my favorite mysteries, but my interest had been solely to keep from wearing myself out pacing and clock-watching.

"You've traced the cab?"

She pouted.

"Did Natsuki doubt me?"

"Not really. Finding the cabby who left a fare at such-and-such a place on a certain day and time is one thing, but even I could find one when I knew the number. I'm surprised that it took that long."

"_Ara_, you are in a pawky temper. Did your appointment not go well?"

I started to shake my head, then stopped. I _was_ sniping at her a bit much, wasn't I? The nervous waiting was part of it, but so were the self-doubts that had plagued me at the gunsmith's.

"It's just that I have a few things to think about," I hazarded. Trying for a lighter tone, I said, "Besides, you're late, so I have a right to be cross. But you can tell me the whole story of why over tea."

"We need to get going; there's no time to wait for tea."

I stared at her.

"No time for _tea_? Who are you, and what have you done with Shizuru Viola?"

"Natsuki..." she chided.

"I wasn't entirely joking. When have you ever passed up tea? Why all the rush?"

"I'm afraid that our time is limited. The driver allowed us to escape his attempt on our life; moreover, he allowed us to identify his cab."

"That part isn't necessarily obvious," I noted.

"Not necessarily from the encounter itself, although it was a definite risk even then, but now that I have made inquiries at the cab company, that is proof positive. No, our murderous friend represents a definite weak link to be eliminated unless he himself is the prime mover in these events, which I trust you will agree is a scarcely credible theory."

"Isn't a cabby as likely as anyone to have lost badly in the Netherland-Sumatra Company or some other scheme?" I asked.

"Yes, but not to wait around outside the houses of his victims the next day where he might be spotted, nor to lash out at us. That is the action of a lackey, not a man on a campaign of revenge," she corrected me.

"...Good point."

I was on my feet almost at once. She had had her cab waiting for us and we hopped into the hansom. Shizuru gave the driver the address and we were off.

"So tell me what happened?" I said as soon as we were underway.

"Firstly, the reason it took me so long was that I did not at once start on tracing the cab. My initial errand was to the morgue, where I learned several valuable facts about Merridew's slaying."

"Oh? Like what?"

"The idea that the attack came as a complete surprise to him seems borne out. There were no signs of a struggle, no defensive wounds on his hands or arms, no disarrangement of his clothing. He was stabbed only a single time, the wound piercing the heart from up under the ribs, with death being almost instantaneous, if the surgeon is to be believed."

"So, someone who knows how to handle a knife?"

"Exactly. It might have been blind luck, but skill and knowledge seem to be the more likely answer."

"What about the tie-pin?" I rushed on.

"It was missing," she said simply.

"Then the same person killed them both."

"Or at least the same directing mind was responsible," Shizuru amended. I thought about that for a while and nodded.

"Yeah, if it's the Obsidian Court exacting punishment, then the one giving the order isn't going to be the one holding the knife."

"The same might also apply in the opposite case."

"Oh?"

"In discussing the idea that Baron Maupertuis and Mr. Merridew were killed for revenge against the Obsidian Court, we never mentioned what, in retrospect, seems the most obvious possibility."

"It isn't obvious to me," I groused.

"No doubt because you yourself are an individual."

I shot her a sharp glance.

"Shizuru, we've already—"

She raised her hands.

"_Ara_, Natsuki is jumping to conclusions, I think."

I arched an eyebrow at her.

"You weren't making a reference to my own alleged connection to the Obsidian Court?"

Shizuru smiled at me.

"Did I make any inquiries into Natsuki's activities?"

I glared at her, furious and yet unable to contradict her. God, that was so like Shizuru, to take something that was a point of contention between us, one she actually had serious feelings about—and tease me about it! I didn't know whether to yell at her or tear my hair out in frustration, and finally just gave up and started laughing. Shizuru was Shizuru, and I was fairly certain that was never going to change.

Honestly, I found that somehow comforting.

"All right; I give up. Tell me what's so obvious."

Her eyes still laughing at how she'd so thoroughly tied my brain in knots, she said, "The Obsidian Court is a secret society, which at least on some level is involved in political and financial plotting, correct? Well, then, why shouldn't their opposition be the same? In the underworld, it's most often a gang that fights another gang, not one person."

"So you think Maupertuis and Merridew were killed by a rival group, secret society, financial syndicate, whatever?"

"No, but I think we should consider the possibility."

"So then the cabby doesn't have to be with the Obsidian Court. He could be working for a rival group, spying on those locations where they've carried out assassinations, seeing who turns up?"

"Precisely." Shizuru smiled at me. "Just think of it. Perhaps this mysterious group believes that we are the Obsidian Court's investigation team, sent to—"

She broke off suddenly, as I managed to control myself, just barely able to keep myself from grabbing the front of her dress and slamming her up against the far side of the cab. I'd actually been reaching for her when I got control of myself and yanked my hand back, pressing it hard against my thigh to keep it out of trouble.

My tone of voice, though, was exactly the same as if I'd snarled the words into her face.

"Do. Not. _Ever_ associate me with those people," I ground out between clenched teeth. "_Never_, Shizuru. This isn't something you can tease me about. For God's sake, some things have to be off-limits, do you understand?"

"N-no, I don't," she said in a very small voice. "I _don't_ understand, because you won't _tell_ me, Natsuki."

I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a hard rush.

"Which ought to tell _you _how serious this is for me. You're smarter than that. You were smarter than that just a minute ago when you got me to laugh despite everything. Sure, your teasing makes me angry sometimes, but that's just because you push it until it's intolerable, rubbing my patience raw. This is different, Shizuru, and you ought to have figured that out!"

The last couple of words came out in a squeak, almost as if—Damn it, I was _not_ crying. I was _not_ breaking down in tears in a damn cab rolling through the streets of London because I'd been teased about something too sensitive for joking! What was I, a bloody primary-schooler still? I blinked rapidly, clearing away the tears.

"I..._kannin na_, Natsuki. You're right; I should have known better. I let my wit get the better of me."

I exhaled hard again, realizing suddenly that I'd held my breath while Shizuru apologized.

_No, not _while_ she apologized,_ I corrected myself. _Until_.

We looked at each other for a long moment, neither one of us entirely comfortable with saying more. My emotions had been racing to and fro like a drunkard swaying from one side of the street to the other while walking—frustration, humor, rage, fear, relief—and I could only imagine that Shizuru's were doing the same.

"Natsuki?" she finally, hesitantly, broke the silence. I hadn't responded to the apology, I realized, not in words. That wasn't my best skill, putting my feelings into speech. "I won't do it again," she added.

"Thanks," I kept it simple. Hard to screw up simple, I thought. At least, not unless the situation called for complex. And...it did feel complex. She'd been the one to offend, but I'd been the one to lose my temper.

"I...I'm sorry, too," I said. "Gah! I'm getting pulled in so many directions at once these days, I don't know which end is up!"

"Is it this case?" she asked. "The Obsidian Court is obviously a sore point with you. Is this why you wanted me to drop the matter? because of what's happening to you?"

"No," I said. "No, if it was just me, I wouldn't mind. I just don't want to see you hurt. This cabby we're chasing...I don't know if he was after you because you're investigating these murders, or after me and you just got in the way..." My voice trailed off.

"I see."

No, she didn't see, but then again she was right—I hadn't told her enough that she could see. And frankly I wasn't even sure that I really understood it myself, at least not enough to lay it out for her plainly even if I wanted to.

The only thing I did know was that I felt like I was being pulled in multiple directions at once. Drawn and quartered, I think that form of execution is called, where they tie a rope to each limb and pull in four separate directions, and see where the body rips apart. My feelings were doing the same thing to me: the tension of looking over my shoulder, knowing the next murderous attack could be coming; the eager anticipation, the thrill even, of closing in on the First District after so long; the confusion and even guilt over my mother's role within the Obsidian Court and what she might have done; my fear for Shizuru and the unaccountable terror I felt at the thought of my closest friend being hurt or killed because she was involved in my business.

I could barely keep it all straight. If it were just my own problems I thought I'd be able to handle myself, but from the moment Emily Gartner had rung our bell my heart had been spinning out of control, a heart I'd pretty much kept locked behind walls my whole life. Those walls were down, now, and I didn't know how I could keep myself under control without them.

But I had to. I _had_ to, or else everything, fourteen out of my nineteen years, would have been for nothing. I'd be no good to Shizuru that way.

It'd have been so much simpler if things had stayed the way they were between us. Two fellow-lodgers, sharing a roof, meals, and very little else. Things had all been so clean and neat back then, before nine months of talk, of play, of companionable silences and shared dangers, had brought us to this pass.

It was this kind of funny, I thought, that nine months was the time it took for a child to go from conception to birth. If you looked at my friendship with Shizuru that way, it fit. She'd gone from a stranger to someone I was putting my own life at risk to protect.

"Natsuki?" she asked, breaking the long silence that had reigned while my thoughts ran in these furious circles, getting nowhere.

"Oh, sorry. I...sorry, there's a lot to think about."

"I will try very hard to be aware of that from now on," she said. "Perhaps it was my desire to get you to share those thoughts with me that provoked me to make a jest where I should not have. That was ill-done of me, Natsuki." She extended a hand towards me, literally offering it, and after a second's hesitation I lightly squeezed her fingers between mine. I felt like there was some kind of promise there, but the exact meaning escaped me. Either one of us might have said something in the next instant, something that might have explained the moment or forever shattered it, but the opportunity vanished suddenly as the cab came to a halt.

Sometimes, long afterwards, I would remember that moment and wonder what might have been.

We'd arrived, though, and the immediate, practical situations drove out the more ephemeral emotional concerns. Shizuru paid the cabby, and we turned to our destination.

"So what's this man's name?" I asked her as we approached the door of the small, weathered-looking house, one of a close-set row. Probably it was rented, and equally probably the only time the tenant ever saw the landlord was on rent-day.

"William Wilton, or 'Bill' to his friends—who haven't seen him at his usual haunts for the past two days."

"Because he's been too busy staking out houses and running errands for the Obsidian Court," I muttered. "To say nothing of attempted murder. I'd have thought a hired killer would have a nice place," I added, looking around.

"Perhaps that is why he was willing to take on the job of murder?"

"It works well enough for Whitechapel, so I figure poverty's as good an excuse for crime anywhere else." Though Wilton wasn't desperately impoverished from the looks of it, being one of the working poor wasn't exactly the kind of life that insulated a man from the desire to pick up a little extra on the side. Still and all, murder? That was another kettle of fish entirely from the kind of thing a cabby looking to pick up a few extra quid might be expected to do. Killing a stranger for money took a certain kind of person, the kind that made me shift my posture so I could have a revolver in hand in a split second while Shizuru knocked.

There was no response.

She knocked again, and again there was nothing.

"I believe that this is Natsuki's area of expertise?" she said, turning to me with a smile.

"We're going to break in?"

"We're going to go in through the front door as if we have every right to do so," she corrected. Which made sense, as smashing a window or other more traditional burgling technique would kind of be noticeable by the neighbors in broad daylight.

"To wait for him to come back, or in case he's left clues lying around as to who's paying him?" I asked as I fished out my skeleton keys. Picking the lock definitely would have qualified as suspicious behavior, and we were about to technically commit a crime.

"Why not both?"

I shrugged.

"Why not?"

The lock itself was nothing out of the ordinary, so I didn't need to get fancy with it. The second skeleton key I tried, with a little wiggling, clunked into place and snapped back the lock. I opened the door and peered into a shadowy room made more dingy than it should have been by the grime on the outside of the window that blocked the light.

The smell hit us at once, the sickly-sweet foulness of rot and decay that we were both all too familiar with. I glanced at her and she nodded. A revolver was already in my hand as we edged forward through the small house. There were two doors at the far end of the main sitting-room; I nudged one open and found a bedroom, apparently empty. I tried the other, then let out a sigh and put the gun away.

"It looks like they got here first," I said with a sigh. The corpse was lying on the center of the kitchen floor. Buzzing, twitching bluebottles swarmed over the decaying meat, making my gorge rise. Even so, I could see that his throat had been slashed open nearly from ear to ear. Blood soaked the front of the man's shirt and had pooled on the floor around his neck, indicating that he'd bled out where he fell, that he'd been killed there.

For all that Shizuru was a ladylike and elegant person, she did not possess an excessively fastidious nature. With nothing more than a crinkle of her nose in distaste, she approached the body, shooing away the flies so she could get a look at it.

"I think not, Natsuki," she said.

"It's not him? How can you tell?"

She shook her head.

"That is not what I meant. We do not have to be doctors to tell that this man has been dead for several days."

"What? Oh," I finally caught on to her meaning. "You're saying whomever he was couldn't have tried to run us down because he was dead at the time."

"Exactly—ah! That proves it."

"What proves which?"

"This scar." She traced the short scar on the man's cheek with a gloved fingertip, not quite touching the dead flesh. "It matches the description of one Bill Wilton had, according to his co-workers. I had suspected something like this, but the scar confirms it."

"You'd suspected it?"

Shizuru nodded.

"Look at his build. He's both taller and broader than the driver who tried to run us down. As I said, I had obtained his description from his fellow drivers, so I was fairly sure that he was not the one driving his cab at the time. My only hope was that Wilton had merely been bribed to let someone else use his cab, but given the ruthlessness of our opponents I suspected otherwise."

"So you assumed we were going to walk in on a days-old corpse and didn't feel like sharing that with me?"

She turned her head and looked up at me from where she was crouched.

"I _had_ intended to tell you, Natsuki," she said softly. I was able to finish that sentence myself: _but we took all our time on personal matters._ I nodded, acknowledging what had been left unsaid.

"Ruthless, I agree on," I responded to one of her earlier points instead, "but I'm not sure it's the same killer. Maupertuis and Merridew were killed smoothly and efficiently, with a single stab. This is...messier, I guess you could say?"

"Because of the blood?"

I frowned, then shook my head.

"No, that's not it. I mean, that's mostly a function of _how_ Wilton was killed. But I've seen throat-slittings before, and this guy's throat wasn't cut, it was _carved_ open. There's no sign of a struggle, so it didn't happen in the middle of a brawl, as kind of an accident of the fight. Wilton died the way his killer wanted him to. He liked the violence of it."

Shizuru nodded.

"Natsuki makes a good deal of sense. It is conjecture, but I have to agree, especially as there is further evidence to support you."

"Oh?"

She pointed to the wound.

"If you look at this closely, you will see that it has been made with a serrated edge. Since it is extraordinarily unlikely that the killer seized up a weapon of opportunity, that means that he or she deliberately chose such a weapon."

My sour look was not due to the stench. People chose different weapons for different reasons. My revolvers, for example, were selected because the small size and caliber were easy for me to handle, for their easy concealability in my clothes, and because the hammerless design was less likely to snag when drawing from an unconventional carrying method rather than a proper holster. I'd met a few people who chose a certain kind of weapon: a meat hook, a serrated blade, Indian _bagh nakh_ once. They took a visceral pleasure in the cruelty of killing.

"It's a significant difference," I said. "The Maupertuis and Merridew killer wanted his victims _dead_. This one wanted to _kill_ Wilton."

Shizuru nodded, then pushed herself back upright.

"There's another difference," she added.

"What?"

"We also know that Wilton's murderer wants to kill one, or more likely both, of us."

Sometimes I really hated when she was right.


	14. Chapter 14

We searched Wilton's rooms for anything which might identify his killer, but turned up nothing—and when Shizuru finds nothing at a crime scene, then it can be taken as read that there isn't anything to _be_ found. There didn't appear to be anything that indicated prior contact with his murderer.

"I doubt that his identity was important at all," Shizuru concluded. "Only his cab concerned the killer; he was a convenient way to obtain one while leaving no trace pointing back to him, and quite possibly the crime would not have been discovered until the first of May when the landlord's agent came calling for the rent."

"Did the killer know that?"

"Doubtlessly. A man living alone, no family, no fellow lodger, no servants, no one to notice his absence except a casual friend or two at the pub who would not have been inclined to start an inquiry. They say that 'no man is an island,' but Bill Wilton came close. The killer would not have left that to chance."

I blinked.

"How can you tell? This kind of violence—"

"Exactly. This kind of violence, a killing that reveled in its brutality—and no trace left by the murderer, not so much as a foot-mark in the dust. That speaks of cruel instincts kept under tight control. The selection of a victim would be part and parcel of that. Although that might provide a clue, as it would require observation and inquiry in advance. Someone might recall a stranger asking questions about cabbies, if the killer was clumsy about it—which I doubt, I may add. It's something the police can follow up."

"The police?" I almost yelped.

"Certainly. They have the manpower for tedious legwork. You do have a crime writer's habit of wanting the outside expert to do all her own research even when it would be more efficiently done by others."

"Okay, yes, I do, but that's not what I meant this time."

"Oh?" She looked at me with seemingly genuine curiosity.

"I meant, why tell them at all?"

"Because, Natsuki, we have discovered a murdered man. It is our duty."

I sighed.

"Just what we need, another go-round with Kanzaki. I can only imagine what he'll say when he finds out we were nearly run down by Wilton's murderer."

"If that disturbs you, then imagine what he would say if the body was found next month, by which time decomposition will have advanced to the point that no surgeon could tell if he died today or three days ago. And we must consider that if the shocking murder of a cab driver appeared in the press, then our own cabby might well recollect that he brought two women, one wearing a Japanese kimono and one dressed in masculine attire, to the house near to the time of the murder."

"You have a point. I've been accused of murder enough times for one life, thank you. And you couldn't deduce anything else at all about this crime?"

"Only that the murderer was very likely shorter than Wilton, due to the slight downward angle of the incision. That suggested that the killer stood behind him and had to reach up, which would put the knife at an angle unless the killer bent his wrist unnaturally, suggesting that the killer was a foot or so shorter than Wilton. However, this merely verifies what we already knew from seeing the imposter ourselves in Mayfair and Kensington."

Even so, it felt oddly reassuring that she had observed and deduced _something_ substantive about the crime. I certainly wouldn't say that I felt _good_, obviously, but at the least the killer had left _some_ trace of himself in the room, something physical as well as mental.

I had enough problems without adding a phantom to the mix.

We emerged from the foulness of the death house into the London air, which had rarely smelled so good to me. We found a constable and reported the incident, which earned us a number of surprised and suspicious looks from the stolid member of the force. Then Shizuru gave him Kanzaki's name and the information that the murder likely related to an investigation of the Chief Inspector's, which in turn earned a visible look of relief. A man out of his depth appreciated having some direction.

As it turned out, though, we were not given over to the tender mercies of my nemesis. Kanzaki was apparently out doing actual detective work instead of waiting for Shizuru to spoon-feed him the answers, so we ended up with Sergeant Tate instead. Perhaps because of that, Shizuru was remarkably open with him, starting with seeing the cab at the Merridew house, its attempt to run us down, and how she'd traced it to its normal driver. She went on to share her conclusions about the killer of Wilton, such as they were, and went on to note that the police should keep an eye out for Wilton's cab since it was by no means likely that the killer knew we (she included me in that statement despite that it was her doing alone) had seen the number.

"But you should be duly careful," she finished up. "I do not think this person would hesitate to kill a constable to escape, and he or she is very likely more comfortable with violence than the average policeman."

Tate rubbed the back of his neck, his long, horselike face looking a bit bewildered, but that was just how he usually looked as his next statement proved.

"You're being pretty open about all this, Miss Viola."

Shizuru pouted.

"First Natsuki and now you? Truly, Sergeant, am I so opaque normally that cooperation comes as such a shock?"

Tate snickered and I chuckled, drawing surprised looks from some of the constables at the scene. Shizuru shook her head in mock sadness.

"_Ara_, and this is the thanks I get for doing my civic duty."

"To be fair, Miss Viola, you and Miss Kuga weren't in a particularly helpful mood this morning—not that you didn't have some justification for that," he hastily amended when I skewered him with the Death Glare.

"And as we are speaking of that," she quickly took up the cue, "I can only imagine the pressure being placed on Reito from his superiors. Would you happen to know whom it is that is bearing down upon him?"

Tate's smile went away quickly, replaced by a suspicious look.

"You're looking for which police officials might be connected to this Obsidian Court business, aren't you?"

Shizuru responded in a soft voice, not easily overheard.

"Sergeant, I sympathize with your difficulty. You are a serving officer of the Metropolitan Police and do not want to accuse your superiors without cause or to create a scandal for the force. Yet do you not see that as an outsider I am best placed to examine this? If you or Reito pushed back too hard, your careers might suffer, but I am not beholden to Scotland Yard in any way. If I can discover something, it may well relieve the pressure being put on the two of you to close the case in spite of the evidence."

He rubbed the back of his neck again, looking uncomfortable with the situation.

"Well, I can't really say too much," he muttered. "The Inspector doesn't take me in with him when the cases start getting mucked up with politics. Frankly, I like it that way. Show me a crime and let me find out who did it, don't get me all twisted up in which toes I have to dance around. But I do know that Superintendant Concannon is one of the people who's been talking to him lately."

I didn't know the name, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. My knowledge of the First District was anything but exhaustive—and for all I knew Concannon might not have been involved with them in any case. He might just be passing the pressure on down the chain of command.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your confidence."

"Just don't tell the Inspector that I told you anything. He wouldn't want us poking our noses in where they didn't belong, especially as Miss Kuga's not telling him her business."

At least he acknowledged that it _was_ my business. That was a step up from his boss.

"He will not hear a thing about it from me," Shizuru assured him. "Are we then free to go?"

"Yes; if the Inspector has anything further to ask you, he'll be in touch."

"This time, make sure he waits until dawn," I muttered, and swept out the door in Shizuru's wake.

Since it was past twilight by the time we'd finished with Tate's questioning and we'd missed teatime outright, I half-expected Shizuru to suggest that we stop for a bite on the way home. I was prepared to argue the point, since I really didn't want to expose myself publicly anywhere that I didn't actually have to do so. It was one thing to break cover for a potential gain on the case, but quite another to have to put myself at needless risk. My worries were groundless, though, as Shizuru gave her intent to return directly to Baker Street, where she at once ensconced herself on the sofa and polished off two cups of green tea without saying a word or varying her expression.

I knew this attitude from the past: she was wrestling intently with something particularly difficult in her mind. When it came to Shizuru, the less going on outside meant the more happening in her thoughts.

That was pretty much the opposite of me. When faced with inaction, I fretted. I got up, I sat down, I paced, I poked at the fire, I tried to sit and think things over in search of new insights, I tried to distract myself with a book. None of it gave me any relief and my restlessness had seemingly no impact on Shizuru. Finally, as she reached for the teapot again, I spoke up.

"I guess it's a three-cup problem," I said lightly.

She looked up at me in surprise—I generally didn't interrupt her when she was thinking—and with a faint smile flicking at the corners of her mouth.

"I believe Natsuki has coined a phrase. But in this case, I believe that neither three cups nor three pots will put us any closer to a solution."

"It's not like you to say that a problem can't be solved by reasoned analysis."

"This is why, in truth, I despise these conspiracy cases. Give me the problems of ordinary men and women, their fears, their desires, their loves, and I am in my element. But the machinations of secret societies, what does it matter? Say I trace the assassin of Bill Wilton. Yes, it will stop a dangerous person's activities, but do his or her masters not have a dozen, perhaps a hundred more? A rank-and-file member of a criminal society, a fanatical movement, any organization that makes people band together and defy the law, is no more than a weapon wielded by the organization's guiding mind. It can only be stopped by destroying that mind, which may well be functionally untraceable and unable to be linked directly to the followers' criminal acts."

I nodded. Her thoughts were a mirror of mine concerning the Obsidian Court. Only by dealing one and for all with the Obsidian Prince was I ever going to be free of them. The only question was, how much _else_ was I going to have to do, given all the other unknown factors surrounding this affair?

_Listen to me_, I thought ruefully. _I don't know the identity of the Obsidian Prince or the Elders, let alone have a plan as to what to do about them, and I'm starting to worry about _afterwards_?_

"The problem we face is that avenues of investigation seem to be closing as fast as they are opening. Merridew is murdered. Wilton is murdered. Superintendant Concannon may be involved, but with the full influence of his office behind him—influence he has already used—he will be difficult to approach, and indeed he may only be the voice of someone even higher up in the police, perhaps the Commissioner himself, which would require even more difficulty in addressing. The secretary, Hartwell, has information but is deliberately remaining silent, out of loyalty to or fear of the Obsidian Court."

"Probably both," I said.

"Likewise, Natsuki has knowledge of this matter, but she refuses to share it for reasons of her own. We are stymied at every turn; I cannot make tea without leaves."

"We've been over this," I sighed, frankly sick of this discussion, which was why I didn't point out that no one involved on any side, neither the law nor me nor the Obsidian Court, _wanted_ her involved. Only her own emotions were driving her.

I instead returned to the thought I'd had while leaving Merridew's house before the cab came after us.

"Shizuru, I don't know anything, or rather yes, I do have some knowledge, but not about the case. I can promise you, I don't have any knowledge that would help tell you who murdered Maupertuis or Merridew or Wilton, whichever case you care to solve. Honestly, I'd _tell_ you if I could tell you about the cabby; he's an innocent victim in all this who deserves justice."

"And the others do not? Because of things they've done or just because they belong to the Obsidian Court?"

I fixed her with a sharp glare. _Not_ the Kuga Death Glare—which wouldn't work on Shizuru, anyway—but enough of one to let her know that I was emphatically not going to answer that. Shizuru, however, did not take the hint.

"But don't you see?" she pressed me. "You can't say now that what you know is unimportant. It may instead prove to be of the greatest import, when combined with other data—perhaps something we have yet to learn, or perhaps a fact we do know but whose significance cannot be realized without your information. Your knowledge of the Obsidian Court may not suggest a solution to you, but perhaps to me that will not be the case." Her expression was somehow both chiding and plaintive, and I actually found myself wavering for a moment before her logic and earnestness.

Then I came back around to the significant point she'd left unmentioned.

"Shizuru, why do you care so much?" I asked.

She blinked.

"Pardon me?"

"We've had this argument what, three times now? Four? It's not just mule-headed stubbornness to keep on because people keep telling you not to, is it? If it was me, I would believe that, but that's the kind of thing I'd expect from Haruka Armitage rather than you."

Shizuru pouted.

"_Ara_, 'how sharper than a serpent's tooth,' Natsuki."

I snorted at her.

"Please, spare me the jokes. I'm being serious; bulldog tenacity is not one of the virtues I associate with you. You've solved the case to the client's satisfaction, the police want you out of it, and _I _want you safely out of it." _Damn, I let that "safely" slip in there._ "You yourself just now acknowledged that the business isn't like one of your usual mysteries, but a shadow duel with at least one secret society involved where the actual killers are just the hands carrying out some other brain's instructions, probably without even knowing why. There's no client, little chance of a solution, and except for Bill Wilton, whom you didn't even know about until this afternoon, nobody for whom justice can be achieved. Yet you push at this case like some animal whose jaws are locked in on it, no matter who asks you to back off! All I want to know is why!"

Her mask had slipped back in place while we talked, the enigmatic smile that had actually been absent as often as not over the past few days. I thought for a moment that I caught the flicker of some veiled emotion trying to shine out, but it was too soon gone, if it had ever been there, for me to put a name to it.

"Truly, you have no understanding of my concern?"

"Would I be asking you if I did?"

She nodded, her expression changing.

"That is a valid point. One of Natsuki's most appealing qualities is her refusal to speak other than what is on her mind."

I was honestly surprised that she called that appealing; I'd have expected her to prefer talking with someone like Kanzaki, where she could play word games back and forth with him and give her brain the exercise it craved in trying to extract truth from beneath the polite demurrals, oblique references, half-truths, obscure subtext, and layered meanings—the stuff that made me want to yank my hair out by the roots.

Like she was, in fact, doing right then, with her question-for-a-question answer and her discussion of the answer to her own question but not my original one. Throwing up a wall of words to keep from actually having to say anything.

I had my reasons for remaining quiet. She had her reasons for pushing the point. Neither one of us were, apparently, going to budge on the issue, and it made me think. So many months ago, keeping this part of my life from Shizuru had been about privacy, about keeping that core part of me intact. It was about trust, or more accurately my lack of it.

But that had changed, and staring down the barrel of this same damn fight yet again made me realize it. I _would_ have told her everything by now if it had just been a matter of trust because, goddamn it, I _did_ trust Shizuru, I really did. That was why I'd shown her Porlock's coded message—and at least half of why I'd jumped down her throat in the carriage, because I'd come to let down my guard around her.

That wasn't the issue any more.

Now it was strictly about Shizuru's life, in keeping her from becoming collateral damage in a fight that wasn't hers, one she'd only be in for my sake.

That was my side of things. So what was hers? What was driving _her_ so hard in the opposite direction? She had no direct interest in the case, no connection I knew about to the Obsidian Court—if she had, it was much better hidden than my own and in any case she'd probably have said something as shared experiences would likely get me to open up about my own past.

There had to be _something_, though. Shizuru was doing something she'd never done before, pushing hard at the boundaries of my personal, private self. Her respect for that inner core of me had been one of the main reasons she had been able to become close to me in the first place. It had been how she'd won that trust I'd just been thinking about, by _not_ overstepping her bounds.

Yet something had changed. We'd gotten into several arguments on the point already. I didn't see any reason why that would change, if she kept at it, yet she did. I had thought, had hoped, that she valued our friendship, and yet she was risking it, together with the law's displeasure and the possible wrath of a criminal secret society, all for the sake of...what?

I just didn't get it. Shizuru Viola was, as always, as much of a mystery as the ones she investigated.

"Something's going on with you," I put that "speaking my mind" trait into action again. "I can't believe that it's just ambition or the thrill of the chase of something silly like that. You have some reason, some real reason for what you're doing, and I just can't fathom it. Maybe it's a good reason; I don't know. But whatever it is, I don't want to see you get yourself killed over it."

"Natsuki..."

"So you say I'm holding something back. I never denied it. I'm not like that Hartwell, who sits there insisting he knows nothing when it's obvious that he does. But I'm not the only one. You're holding something back, too." I took a deep breath. "I'm not saying your reasons aren't good ones. I'd be the world's biggest hypocrite if I did. But they're there, Shizuru. You've got secrets, too."

I sighed.

"Are you involved with the Obsidian Court, too? Do you have some private reason for wanting to go after them?"

"Do you mean, am I pursuing some private vendetta against them and am using this case as a smokescreen to conceal my real reason for investigating the Obsidian Court, reducing my danger by appearing as an agent rather than a principal?"

"Yes." It wasn't _that_ farfetched—it was basically the same thing I was doing by tagging along after her when her cases crossed the Obsidian Court's path.

Her gaze softened slightly.

"No, there is nothing like that."

"Then what? What is it that's driving you so hard?"

We looked at each other for a long moment, the seconds slowly ticking by. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, but seemingly at the last moment her head dropped.

"I can't," she said, almost plaintively. "I cannot tell Natsuki."

I let out a long sigh of frustration.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

She raised her head. I didn't know what my face was showing, but hers was stricken. We were at an impasse, and Shizuru knew it too. I was desperate to keep her as safe as I could, and stalling her progress on this case was the only way I could think of doing it. Telling her everything would only make the situation worse. And she had some reason of her own to keep pushing, keep worrying at the case, but wouldn't share that reason. My knowledge, her purpose.

Two secrets that lay between us.

This was the price of growing closer together, I realized. Our old friendship had been tacitly if not explicitly on superficial terms. We shared time and experience but not our inner selves, so there was no expectation that there would be any more. We held back those parts of ourselves comfortably, enjoying our time together without trespassing on each other's personal space. The boundaries were nice and clear.

And then they weren't.

It had started breaking down at the end of last year with the Smith case—ironically, the occasion where I'd gotten my first solid lead about the Obsidian Court. Something had changed then, some line crossed whereby we'd stopped being friends in the casual sense, aimable fellow-lodgers, and instead became something more. Willing to confide matters like my regrets over being largely ignorant of my Japanese heritage or the roots of her very strong feelings about love.

No, maybe it had started that very first time she had invited me to share one of her cases. That was when she'd first bridged the gap and invited me to glimpse part of her life, taken the first, halting steps towards a relationship where confidences rather than privacy made up the expected rule.

Only now, having crossed that threshold, we had reached a situation where we still had secrets, and those secrets were colliding headalong with one another. Neither one of us would—or perhaps even could—move off our point, and where once it would have been assumed that Shizuru's private affairs were none of my business and vice versa, now it felt wrong _not_ to confide in her. I could tell that she felt the same, which no doubt made her as uncomfortable in her position as I was in mine.

The tension between us made it impossible for us to slip into our usual, casual patterns. Like the proverbial elephant in the room, it could not be ignored, and our awareness of it colored everything, forcing us into an uncomfortable silence at every halting attempt at conversation. Dinner was a miserable affair; for once I picked at my food while eating very little in Shizuru-like fashion, and I retired to bed early out of a sheer, frustrating inability to focus on anything.

I must have stared up through the dark at the shadowy panels of the ceiling for upwards of an hour, trying to think of some way out of this mess. My search for an escape from the trap the First District had me in was rapidly running out of possibilities. I couldn't dodge them forever; if I couldn't find a way to make the attempts stop they'd get me sooner or later even if they didn't escalate the intensity. Not only could I not see a way free, I could barely even keep my mind on the attempt. My thoughts constantly circled around to Shizuru, to find some way to repair what had become damaged between us. Somehow, my brain kept treating that as the more important problem.

_Maybe we can work out some kind of trade?_ I thought. _I could...I could tell her everything, if she promised that she'd drop the case and stay out of things?_

But I knew already, didn't I, that she wouldn't do that. It wasn't _curiosity_ driving her, after all. It was something of her own, some circumstance every bit as powerful as the desires that had brought me to this point, and I doubted she'd be willing to set it aside—indeed, she only wanted _my_ knowledge because of _her_ secret, whatever it was.

Besides, knowing Shizuru as I did, was it realistic to believe she would just stand by when I spelled out a tale of murder and a quest for revenge? Oh, I was sure she would understand my point of view. As a Japanese-Italian, the idea of a vengeance which honor, love, and familial duty demanded I take was something she had examples of from both sides of her heritage. I could count on her to understand and to sympathize. But to agree? To let me pursue it without interference?

To condone a murder?

I thought of the purchase I'd made earlier that afternoon, and what Mlle. Helene had tacitly said to me at the time. Say Shizuru did hear me out, and she didn't try to convince me to give up my plans—or she did try, but failed and accepted it? What then? I would have made her an accessory before the fact to a murder, as guilty as I was.

I supposed it meant something that this was the first time I'd considered the possible _legal_ consequences of taking Shizuru into my confidence.

With that rather cynical thought I at last gave way, and fell into a restless, dream-haunted slumber. Images of blood and pain and death warred with one another and vanished like wisps. One in particular I remembered, a vision of Bill Walton's bloated, decaying body stalking me through the streets of Limehouse with a blood-encrusted bone saw, while all the while I hunted desperately for Shizuru. From far off, I heard her scream, an explosion of pain and terror, and I came awake, with the echoes of the very _real_ scream that had torn me out of my dream dying in my ears.

~X X X~

_A/N: Sharp-eyed Sherlockians will note that yes, "I cannot make tea without leaves," is a Shizuruization of Holmes's "I cannot make bricks without clay."_


	15. Chapter 15

_Shizuru!_ I thought as I came bolt awake in an instant. I was a light sleeper by inclination and by training; the same people who had shown me that rest was a weapon to be seized wherever possible had also taught me the vulnerability of sleep and how I had to be on the alert. The scream—the perception of danger—had galvanized me awake in an instant, adrenaline and a touch of panic driving out any grogginess.

_No, not Shizuru_, I realized as my mind began to sort out what I'd _heard_ from what I'd dreamed. _Someone else_.

By this time I was already sitting up in bed, covers thrown back, the Mauser semi-automatic from my night-table in my hand. In the next moment my door was flung open and Shizuru came rushing in.

"Natsuki, wake u—oh, you are."

"I heard a scream."

"Mrs. Hudson, downstairs. Quickly! There's a fire."

I smelled it then, the sharp scent of wisps of smoke that had followed Shizuru in.

"What's going on?"

"I do not know, but we need to hurry."

I nodded, hopping out of bed and following her out. We must have looked like a ridiculous pair, she still in her lavender kimono, fully dressed, while I wore only an overly filmy night-rail. With people screaming and a danger of fire, there was no time to waste throwing on a dressing-gown. My idea of getting ready was to click off the Mauser's safety-catch.

We went out onto the landing, where the smoke was thicker but not the billowing clouds of a serious blaze, more like someone had closed the flue over a lit fireplace. With our door open we could hear the sounds of scuffling, and male and female grunts and cries. These concerns were set aside, though, by the more immediate problem of two men pounding up the stairs at us. They'd only been a couple of steps from the top when we'd opened the door, and were upon us before there was time to aim, let alone order them to halt.

I'd been the first one out onto the landing since I was armed and Shizuru was not, and the lead man collided hard with me. He was of middling height but broad-shouldered and barrel-shaped; he crashed into me with his full weight and slammed me back into the wall behind me. I grunted with the impact; my head smacked against the plaster and I saw stars, but considerably worse was the fact that my right hand also smacked the wall and I lost my grip on the gun. It dropped, bounced twice, and slipped between the rails of the balustrade to fall to the front hall below.

Desperately, I whipped my head forward and smashed my forehead full into the man's face. I heard the crunching sound of his nose breaking and he reeled back, unpinning me from the wall. There was no time to waste; the bearded, bowler-hatted thug had a big Bowie knife in his right hand and I had no desire to be carved like an Easter ham. It was his left hand that he flailed at me, though, with a fistful of oily rags whose smell made me choke. Luckily his wild swing didn't make contact and I was able to punch under his arm, hammering his ribs with a good shot, but I doubted he even felt it, as solidly muscular as he was.

The second man, meanwhile, had gone after Shizuru, swinging the heavy metal can he carried up at her head. She deftly slipped the blow, allowing the can to hit our doorjamb jarringly, then stepped in close, wound her hands around his arm and in a move I couldn't quite follow since I was tied up with my own fight she half-shoved, half-threw him into our sitting-room where he sprawled to his hands and knees.

Bowler Hat then did something stupid. He raised his hand for an overhand stab. A skilled knife fighter will stab underhand, both because it's harder to avoid or block such an attack and because it's almost certain to hit something vital and unprotected. If he'd rushed me with a low thrust in these close quarters he'd very likely have stabbed me through the guts. But he hadn't, and I wasn't going to give him the chance to fix his mistake. As soon as his hand went up, I stepped in and half-turned, getting under his arm, reaching up to grab his sleeve with my right hand to pull him even more out of position while I drove my left elbow hard into his armpit. A short, sharp gasp of pain escaped him, but I didn't hesitate. Instead, I jerked my elbow back and hit him again, in the sternum this time, then pivoted towards him and drove my right knee up into his gut.

I released his arm as I hit him, and he staggered back with another grunt. His back foot came down half over the edge of the top step, though, and he toppled, fighting for balance and losing. He went over, slamming his back into the stairs, and went sliding down. I was after him in an instant, and found him groaning and twitching but definitely still conscious at the base of the stairs. I corrected that oversight by kicking him in the head while he was down, using the edge of my foot rather than my toes since my feet were bare.

The blunt truth of the matter was, I was furious. The fog of sleep had given way to pure, almost reflexive reaction to the immediate threats, but I was not blind to the consequences. Rough-dressed men appearing in the middle of the night? Oil, rags, and a can half-full of liquid? Smoke rising from below? I'd considered the possibility that the Obsidian Court might try something like an infernal device, taking Shizuru with me, but it seemed they'd taken the simpler approach of burning 221 Baker Street to the ground with us inside it.

Mrs. Hudson's door was open, but further up the hall so was the kitchen door and it was from there I could see the glow of flames and hear the sounds of scuffling. I rushed inside and saw that the cupboards to the right of the stove were wreathed in flame, sending out gouts of smoke. I coughed once, but I couldn't worry about that now; Mrs. Hudson, her hair down and wearing a plush cream-colored dressing-gown, was wrestling with two more thugs. She was actually doing well for herself; she'd taken out the sash from her dressing-gown and had it wound around one thug's neck. The man beat at her shoulders with his fists, while his friend, who wore a tattered scarf and greasy tweed cap, tried to pull her hands away, but it was to no avail; the strangling thug's face was steadily turning redder than his ginger whiskers.

Obviously realizing that his attempts were futile, Tweed Cap whirled towards the hearth and grabbed up one of the fire irons, no doubt figuring it would be easier to get Mrs. Hudson to let go if he beat her unconscious or dead. I cursed my stupidity in not grabbing up the Mauser when I had the chance and flung myself at Tweed Cap, driving him into the stones of the hearth. He hadn't had any idea I was even there; he dropped the fire iron on impact, but pushed back and spun, swinging his fist up in a short, tight arc that pounded my ribcage.

Tweed Cap had obviously been a boxer; he hit me twice more with bruisingly hard body blows that jolted me back so that I bumped into Mrs. Hudson. He came after me at once with a left hook, but that judgment showed why he was burning down buildings and not earning a living prizefighting. I used my forearm against his to guide his fist safely part my head, and since he'd obligingly dropped his right when he threw the punch, I snapped his head back with a blow to the face. He bellowed angrily and reached me, but I flipped him onto his back with a hip toss, then stomped hard on his belly driving the breath out of him.

I figured that pretty much would end the fight, but Tweed Cap surprised me by realizing the same thing and forcing himself to action. Clearly, despite his boxing background he wasn't brought up under the Queensbury Rules; he simply rolled into my legs, using his size, and I toppled across him.

Fear stabbed into my heart as I hit the floor, From my time as an occasional pit-fighter, I knew that the last place I ever wanted to be was on the ground with a guy who had fifty or sixty pounds' advantage in weight. He knew it, too, grabbing for my legs, and I pivoted at the waist and clapped his ears, feeling pain shoot across my back from the healing knife wound when I played contortionist.

It worked, though; the blow jarred Tweed Cap and made his grip slacken. I pulled back my right leg, then thrust it out, driving my heel into his face like I was hammering a nail. Liking the results, I did it again before scrambling to my feet. I took a step back while he was groggily pushing himself erect, giving me all the time I needed to line up a roundhouse wheel kick that sent a jolt of pain up my leg when it connected.

_Next time, wear shoes while kicking people in the head_, I groused to myself, but since I hadn't been injured I really didn't have any cause for complaint. Tweed Cap was not so lucky; his eyes rolled up in his head and he crashed to the floor.

I turned at once to Mrs. Hudson, but she was already at the burning cupboards, wrestling with the fire. Shizuru burst into the kitchen, having apparently dispatched her opponent.

"Natsuki, are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, but—"

"Don't just stand there, you two," Mrs. Hudson snapped. "We have to get this fire out before it spreads to the walls and burns the house down around us!" The skin over her left cheekbone was red and swollen and her eye was already darkening, but our landlady was definitely uncowed by the hurt. We rushed to help at once, refilling and passing buckets of water, and between the three of us we desperately managed to keep the fire contained until it was nothing but smoldering embers. Our faces and clothes were streaked with soot from the effort and my lungs burned from the smoke I'd inhaled, but we'd managed to save the building.

"This case is killing my collection of undergarments," I muttered sourly.

"Think of the fun you'll have buying new ones," Mrs. Hudson remarked.

"If these guys are carrying what they were paid for the arson, I might even be able to afford it."

"Perhaps we should secure them before they rouse themselves?" Shizuru noted.

"Good point. We don't want any of them to wake up and take a second shot at this."

"I'll send for the police while you're doing that," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Ask for Chief Inspector Kanzaki and Sergeant Tate," Shizuru told her. "They are the ones working on the current—"

"No," I cut her off even as I was tying Tweed Cap's arms behind his back.

"_Ara_?"

"I said no. These bastards broke into our house and tried to kill the lot of us. They're going to tell us exactly who hired them and why—though I've got a pretty damn good idea as to that point."

"You believe that you are more likely to find that out than Reito is?"

"Kanzaki is a policeman. He has to obey the law. He might or might not get answers, and he might or might not get them quickly." I looked Shizuru full in the face. "I _will_ get those answers, here and now, tonight."

She nodded, once, slowly.

"I understand." She glanced at our landlady. "Mrs. Hudson may have some feelings in the matter, though."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

"These worms tried to burn down my building with me inside it just because you live here. They would have done it if I hadn't heard them break in through the kitchen door. Don't expect me to waste any sympathy if Natsuki intends to twist a few arms." She looked me up and down. "You might want to get changed first," she suggested.

I glanced down and blushed hotly. We'd been so busy with fighting first the arsonists and second the fire I'd mostly forgotten I was underdressed for the occasion.

Shizuru didn't say anything, which worried me. This would usually have offered her a prime opportunity for teasing, and the fact that she'd held back meant that either she was still upset about the situation we were in or about the attack. I didn't like either option, and wanted to try and put things right, but there was no time right then. We hauled Bowler Hat into the kitchen and tied him, then fetched the last of the four men down from upstairs. I knew Shizuru's knowledge of _baritsu_ made her dangerous in hand-to-hand combat, maybe even more so than me, but I had to whistle in surprise at just how thoroughly she'd dealt with the arsonist. Arms are simply _not_ supposed to bend that way.

On the other hand, four men who broke into the home of three women seeking to burn them to death deserved whatever they got. Even the law would have been on our side had we killed them rather than subduing them. From my point of view, they were lucky they had information I wanted and that Shizuru and Mrs. Hudson had more delicate sensibilities about such things than I did.

We added Broken Arms to the collection in the kitchen, then I went back upstairs and got dressed in shirt, vest, jeans, and boots, then cleaned up assorted weapons and fire-starting tools that had been scattered through the house. By this point the arsonists were coming around, greeting their awakening with a variety of groans, whimpers, and curses.

"Quit whining," I snapped at them. "You should be thankful you're still alive to complain."

"You bloody bitch," Tweed Cap swore at me. "I'll make you wish you had!"

Some men believe that they're in command of any interaction with a woman just because they _are_ a man. That kind of stupidity goes right to the bone. A little something like getting beaten into unconsciousness and waking up a prisoner of the people he was trying to kill wouldn't stop it. I kicked him in the stomach in the hope of at the least making self-preservation drown it out in the short term.

"Actually, right now I'm going to make it the other way around if you don't cooperate," I snapped at him, then raked my gaze across the group to make sure that they knew they were all included. I picked up Bowler Hat's bowie knife off the table where we'd dropped the collection of weapons we'd stripped off the thugs and spun it in my hand. "If you don't answer questions, then you'll be the ones who'll wish we'd killed you."

It wasn't a hard promise to make. These bastards had been the ones to finally cross the line, to be so determined to put me under the ground that they had no qualms about taking Shizuru and Mrs. Hudson with them. I'd worked so hard these past months to keep Shizuru away from this business to keep her safe, keep her from being caught up in this murderous affair, and it had all been for nothing. She'd been swept up in the battles all the same.

_How dare they drag her into this!_ I thought angrily. _She has nothing to do with it!_

Tweed Cap shrank back, his face going pale. I'd been looking at him while thinking, and I could only imagine what my face must have looked like at that moment.

"Shizuru, take Mrs. Hudson and get out," I said in a low, quiet voice.

"Now, just wait a minute. I—" Mrs. Hudson began, but Shizuru cut her off.

"I believe we should do as Natsuki requests."

"Huh?"

"These are matters for which Natsuki requires her privacy. The presence of witnesses will only inhibit her."

I'd half expected—no, more than half, given her interest in my situation—her to argue the point with me. I'd expected her to make reasonable points such as her experience as a detective in questioning suspects and judging if people were lying to her, or the fact that this latest incident had made her a victim too and thus she had a right to be involved in seeking answers, points I really didn't have any good response to.

This wasn't about keeping my secrets private any more, and it wasn't about keeping Shizuru safely out of it. The former was ludicrous and the second was long past.

I...just didn't want her to watch what I might have to do to get answers.

Maybe she knew that.

No, as her next words showed, she definitely knew that.

She'd ushered a still-surly Mrs. Hudson through the kitchen door and was just stepping through herself when she stopped and turned back towards me.

"Natsuki," she said softly, "these men aren't worth losing yourself over."

I shook my head.

"They aren't what it's about."

Our eyes met and, hesitantly, she nodded once, then stepped through the door and closed it behind her.

I turned back to the four thugs.

"I know what you were sent here for," I told them. "You were to kill Natsuki Kuga and anyone else that got in your way. To burn the place to the ground, roasting us like we were beef. You've done this kind of work before, I can tell. Kerosene to provide that extra spark for the flame, flammable material to make sure you could get the fire started easily, the way you headed upstairs to start multiple points of origin so that the building would be sure to be consumed, to make it much harder to escape and for the fire brigade to fight. So we're not going to go into all that."

My gaze slid across them.

"I'm only interested in one thing: _Who. Hired. You?_"

Tweed Cap's hat had come off; I seized a fistful of his greasy brown hair, jerked his head back, and dug the point of the Bowie knife into the soft spot under his jaw.

"Who was it?"

"I dunno!"

I dug the point in a bit deeper, breaking the skin, then slid the blade down, making about a half-inch incision. Bowler Hat didn't appear to care much about keeping his tools in good condition; I felt a little resistance as the knife was a bit dull. It was barely more than a scratch, but Tweed Cap yowled like an infant.

A knife will do that to some people, I've noticed. There's something more frightening about _cutting_ that even the most brutal beating can't convey.

I was happy Tweed Cap was one of these. I wanted him afraid. No, more than that. I could barely keep my hand from trembling, the urge to ram the knife up through the underside of his jaw and into his brain was so strong. He'd come into our home and tried to kill us, violating our place of refuge.

_Our. Us._

And he'd made Shizuru a part of this.

"You crazy bitch!"

I yanked his head back harder and pressed the bloody tip of the knife to his Adam's apple.

"I dunno, I tell you!"

"You decided to kill us just for the fun of it?"

"I just take orders!" he shouted.

"I know, and I'm asking you _who from_?"

I sliced a very shallow line across the side of his neck, well away from anything vital.

"Aaah! You don't get it, lady! I...I'm just muscle! I don't know nothing!"

"A big talker like you? Surely you're kidding."

"Why ain't you talking to Jules?" His eyes flicked to his right, where Bowler Hat and Broken Arms were. I could see it, the head of the four leaving two lackeys to deal with Mrs. Hudson while he and his remaining man went on to finish the job.

But it was the name which caught my attention.

"Jules? Jules _Lautrec_?"

Recognition lit in Tweed Cap's eyes.

"The Limehouse gang boss who had two of his bully-boys watching Mai's restaurant last night?" I pressed.

"Yeah! Yeah, that's—hey, you're the one they were looking for! the one who left Garston and Kenton to get rolled!"

"I am. Apparently you people are slow learners."

"You ain't so—"

I slammed the knife-hilt into his skull hard, knocking him cold before he finished the sentence. It probably saved his life; I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold my anger in check against his insults. I wheeled towards the two he'd glanced at.

"Which one of you is Lautrec?"

"Him!" Broken Arms yelped. His face was pasty white, no surprise given his condition. He stared at Bowler Hat, nodding his head towards him as well to make the point completely clear.

"So you're Lautrec? You should have said something and saved yourself getting knocked down the stairs."

"Go to hell, _chienne_," he spat. I didn't actually speak French, but I'd been called a bitch in enough languages to know a positively polyglot version of it. Sometimes I wondered if people were just unimaginative or there was just something about me that made the comparison automatic.

"I was looking for you anyway, ever since you set your men to watching for me. And now you've come right to my home, so I can conveniently ask you questions."

He glowered at me. Really, by his appearance I'd have sworn he was purely a product of English beef and beer, which was a lesson about guessing nationality by physiognomy alone. The words that came out of his mouth were heavily accented.

"You will not find me so easy to scare as Wescott was."

"Oh, is that a fact?" I didn't know if he meant Tweed Cap or Broken Arms and I didn't really care. I kicked him over onto his back and then sprang onto him, gripping his throat with my free hand. "Now, you listen to me, you stupid piece of dockyard filth. You may think you're a big man in Limehouse with your merry band of two-a-penny nobblers, but you are in way over your head. You're nothing but an errand boy in a game being played between people who are a lot smarter, a lot tougher, and a lot nastier than you. Or maybe you didn't notice how last night you had two men watching for me and I took them out without breaking a sweat? Or that you broke into the home of three sleeping women with three of your gang in tow and it's you four who are tied up in the kitchen after being beaten unconscious? A person with a brain might realize that he's just cannon fodder in all this, don't you think?"

I dug the point of the knife into the skin just at the outer corner of his left eye, not quite hard enough to draw blood.

"You should take better care of your tools. This will hurt more because it's dull."

He chortled, sneering as much as a man with a broken nose can.

"Don't be stupid. We both know you won't do it. You're that detective lady's pet and—aaaugh!"

"Don't ever _talk_ about her again!"

"My face! You cut my face!" He added a few more phrases in French, most of which I didn't understand, but I thought I got the general idea. I rapped his head on the floorboards to get his attention.

"The next time, you lose the eye," I snapped at him, meaning every word of it.

"Crazy bitches!" he moaned. I dug my thumb into his windpipe and he gagged, choking.

"Tell me who hired you!"

"I don't know his name!"

"You can't be that stupid."

"He pays in gold! Half up front—I don't ask too many questions!"

That was believable, unfortunately. You didn't expose your identity to people in underworld business if you could help it. I was reminded of that spider Nao's blackmail ring; she handled it all by message and dead drop so that her victims didn't even know whom their blackmailer was.

"Describe him! Tell me how you contact him."

"Tall. Young-looking—under thirty," Lautrec stammered out.

"Dark or fair? Clean-shaven? Well-dressed or shabby? _Details_, Lautrec, give me details."

"Dark—like a Chinaman, and clean-shaven. He wore a coat; I couldn't see his clothes, but he was clean, nice, dressed like a toff."

"City or country?"

"I couldn't see his clothes, I said!"

That had actually been as much a trick question as anything. The problem with using fear and pain to get answers was that if you push too hard the victim just starts babbling whatever he or she thinks you want to hear. So seeing if they'll contradict themselves is a good way of checking whether they're really answering or just afraid. Lautrec was, at this point, still giving me answers.

"You're not _helping_," I barked at him. "I want this guy. I want the man who sent out a bunch of arsonists to burn me to death. _You_ don't want me to have nobody else but you to blame for it!" As I said that, the image came to me of our sitting-room on fire, Shizuru's body wreathed in flames, and my hands twitched. Lautrec yelped; the knife-point had almost slipped.

"Th-the back-end money," he stammered. "I'm supposed to get it this morning at five!"

"The docks, a warehouse in Rotherhite—Vamberry and Son."

The name hit me like a thunderbolt. I didn't need Lautrec to give me the address because I knew it already. The very first time I had accompanied Shizuru on one of her cases it had been to that warehouse to view the owner's corpse. It couldn't be coincidence, could it? An Obsidian Court connection to the Vamberry case? There had been a smuggling ring involved, so that fit with the society's business-oriented criminal operations, and yet...

I shook my head. Things were coming full circle, somehow.

"Does he have people with him, this toff? A driver, a bodyguard?"

"What, you think he wants witnesses to him paying off someone like me?" Apparently, my question had been foolish-sounding enough that his ego had overcome his fear. That he still _had_ an ego spoke well for his other answers. Still, there was a chance that he'd just pulled a time and place out of thin air, though the warehouse's relevance to _me_ made that a very unlikely coincidence.

Even so, I wasn't taking chances. I let him go, stood up, and took my watch from my pocket.

"Just past three by five minutes," I said. "If you're lying, I'd suggest that you tell me now, because none of you are going anywhere until I know if you've sent me on a wild-goose chase. If I come back empty-handed...then you should pray that Shizuru can talk me into letting the police have you instead of the rats."

I spun on my heel and walked out of the kitchen.

Shizuru and Mrs. Hudson were waiting at the base of the stairs in the front hall. Worry was in the brunette's eyes.

"Would you mind keeping an eye on those guys?" I asked our landlady. "People like that, they always get the idea that they can get sneaky and try to free themselves."

"All right, but do we call the police or not?"

"Not now. Not until I learn if they're liars as well as would-be murderers."

"Natsuki was successful in extracting information?" Shizuru said, more as a conclusion than a question."

"Uh-huh."

"We still _can_ call the police, right?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she walked past me.

"It's all right. I didn't have to...prove my point, too much."

"Good." She went on into the kitchen, leaving me in the front hall with Shizuru.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"Nowhere."

"Do not lie to me, Natsuki. Those men told you something, probably a name or location. You want to test the information before you decide whether to let them go as meaningless pawns, have the police arrest them for arson, or subject them to further interrogation."

"I'm not lying. You said 'we.' _We_ aren't going anywhere. _I'm_ going to go do exactly what you said, find out if Lautrec is giving me the straight goods or thinks he's being cute."

I headed towards the stairs, but Shizuru blocked my path.

"The time for these games is over, Natsuki."

"Get out of my way."

"Those men came into _our_ home and tried to murder _us_. You cannot possibly claim this is none of my affair any longer."

She could have said more, a lot more, but she didn't need to, just stood there with her gaze meeting mine and with no smile of any kind on her face.

"Shizuru..."

"These are hardly the first criminals who have sought my life."

I snarled.

"That's the point, Shizuru. They weren't seeking your life. They were seeking mine and didn't care who else they got in the process. The Obsidian Court has been trying to kill me for over a week. That cab at Merridew's wasn't the first runaway carriage I nearly ended up under, though I managed to duck the other one without you. There was a piece of falling brickwork that would have crushed my skull. Two nights ago, when I got that cut on my back? I'd been decoyed to Whitechapel by a telegram purporting to have come from Porlock and got jumped by three roughs. I've been keeping the blinds down around here in case they had someone with a rifle or air-gun staked out like an Indian tiger-hunter. Bill Wilton's cab in Claremont Court and Kensington was probably more of the same." I slammed my fist against the newel post in frustration. "I guess they gave up looking for an opportunity to get at me and decided a few extra victims were fine."

"I was aware of some of this, but not the full extent," she said softly.

"I thought you might be. It's not exactly fair to be trying to hide stuff from you of all people."

"Why did you do so at all?"

"Because it's not your concern! How could I ask you to risk your life for my personal business?"

"Natsuki risks her life to assist me in my cases."

"It's not the same."

"Why?"

"Because that's your job. This is personal."

_God, this sounds like all the arguments I've had with myself._

"I do not see how that makes any difference. You do not help me for money, but out of friendship. Isn't that 'personal,' too?"

"That's not what I mean." I let my breath out with a rush.

"Then what do you mean, Natsuki? What have you been doing to yourself? What are the secrets that have brought men into our home to try to burn us, and Mrs. Hudson besides, to death?"

Ouch. That was hitting below the belt—and as an experienced street fighter I knew that hitting below the belt could be very effective.

"The Obsidian Court murdered my mother."

"Natsuki..."

The barrier broken, it came out of me in a rush, words tumbling over one another in their haste to be told. Feelings dammed up inside me for years blasted out, bright and raw, into the open at last.

"I was five years old; she was taking me on the steamship _Friesland_, Hamburg to Liverpool. My father wasn't with us, which shouldn't be a surprise since she was his mistress, not his wife. On the way, she went over the rail; her wet clothes dragged her down almost at once. They said it was a tragic accident; no one listened to a little girl who saw a hand push her in a crowd. I didn't even understand it myself at the time, not really, and I hadn't seen the face, but someone had murdered her, and when I got a little older I understood that, and I swore I would make them pay.

"It's why I've lived the life I have, instead of taking my father's allowance, going to school, and marrying some younger son or a doctor or solicitor or a rising financier, someone like that. I had to make contacts like Fred Porlock, ones who could ferret out information that other people wanted to hide, information about the kind of people who'd murder a woman in cold blood. And I had to learn the skills it would take to actually achieve my vengeance, which isn't something covered by most young ladies' seminaries."

And there it was, at long last, thrown out between us. It could never be taken back, our comfortable relationship never put back into its neat and tidy place in my mind.

It was a moment before Shizuru spoke.

"You did not tell me any of this, Natsuki." Accusation and hurt were heavy in her tone.

"How could I?" I cried. "At first, I barely knew you. You were just my fellow-lodger, who shared my roof and little else. Then, when we drew closer...Shizuru, you're a consulting detective."

"And you did not think I would use that skill to help you? I would have been glad to—"

"'Finger' a mark for murder?" I interrupted. "Really, Shizuru? You'd have hunted down a killer for me, solved a fourteen-year-old case so I could put a bullet in the culprit, then covered up my crime? Do you seriously think that I could ask you a thing like that, even if I believed you would go along with it?"

"Natsuki..."

"It's all a moot point anyway, because I found out that the Obsidian Court was involved. They had two members go on board the _Friesland_, push Mother over the side, and steal her bag by bribing the purser. And just last night Porlock told me that Mother had belonged to the Obsidian Court as well! So for all I know I'm seeking vengeance because she was as big a crook as any of them and even stabbed her own friends in the back! Only it's too late now, because after the Crosby case they learned that I knew too much, and it's either them or me. All I could do was keep my mouth shut so as to not put you in danger from knowing too much, and I've even failed at that." I let out another heavy sigh. "So now you know everything, including why you're not coming with me now. Because I am going to meet the man who sent those four killers after us, and I am going to put a bullet in the fucking bastard's head—right after I make him tell me everything he knows about the identity of the Obsidian Prince."

~X X X~

_A/N: Please note that when Natsuki refers to burning "221 Baker Street" to the ground, that's not a typo. The address of "221B" refers only to the upstairs apartments in which she and Shizuru live._

_"Nobbler" is Victorian criminal slang for a crook who specializes in inflicting bodily harm._

_Hopefully, nobody was particularly offended by Jules Lautrec, thug and murderer, using a racial slur (that, honestly, would have been barely considered one in the time period in question...Values Dissonance at work again)..._

_And last but not least, an award for prescience must be awarded to For Spite, who noted way back in his/her review for Chapter 1 that arson might be a method used by the Obsidian Court to get to Natsuki!_


	16. Chapter 16

The Rotherhite docks were still and quiet at half past four in the morning. I'd been lucky to find a cab at an hour when decent people were still in their beds, more lucky that the driver was neither a suspiciously slim man with hat pulled low and collar turned up nor one of his equally murderous comrades. Of course I hadn't taken the cab directly to Vamberry and Son's warehouse; as Shizuru had noted after we'd found Wilton's body, it wasn't a good thing to have a witness who could testify that he'd driven you to a murder scene. I'd gotten out some blocks away at another location entirely, then walked the rest of the way.

A thin, clammy river fog drifted through the streets as I regarded the premises where, months past, I had first entered Shizuru's world of crime treated not as a vocation, but a puzzle to be studied, taken apart and unwound. We'd stood over the corpse of Vamberry the wine-merchant, she and I with Reito Kanzaki and Sergeant Tate, and I'd watched her play word games while deducing the presence of a smuggling ring from the pattern of a few blood drops, bringing to life the artistry of Poe's Dupin and other fictional detectives.

This was no place for her now, I thought. There were no puzzles to unravel, no deductions to be made, just a violent clash between violent people. No _mystery_ at all.

Except perhaps one.

_Why here?_

The coincidence didn't make sense. There had been no whiff of the Obsidian Court in the Vamberry case (although admittedly I hadn't known, then, to be looking for them). I couldn't imagine how assassins sent to kill me would be being paid off at a place of personal significance to me. It did not make sense. Moreover, Lautrec would have no reason to tell that _particular_ lie. _He_ didn't know my history or have a connection to the Vamberry case. So he was likely telling the truth as he knew it. But was it the truth?

I didn't know what it meant, but I was wary as I moved across the street towards the warehouse doors. I peered into shadows and alleys, expecting ambushers to be lurking in each, but no one jumped out at me or fired a shot in my direction.

For some reason, that actually made me _more_ uneasy.

My hand closed around the doorknob. I was prepared to pick the lock; I figured that if Lautrec's employer had picked this place then he had to have a key. Instead, the knob turned easily and the door swung inward on greased hinges. I slipped my hand into a pocket and drew one of my Smith and Wessons; the solid feel of the revolver butt was comforting, something solid to cling to in the face of the unknown I was stepping into.

The cavernous interior of the warehouse was just as I remembered it, a massive, open space divided into rows and corridors by stacks of boxes, crates, and kegs, as well as massive, free-standing casks. Moonlight streamed down through the skylights, providing enough light that there were patches of shadow and deeper darkness, and that some details started to take shape as my eyes began to adjust to the dark. I moved cautiously away from the door, which was the worst possible spot to be in if I wanted to stay unseen, instead clinging to the shadow beneath a row of boxes.

One thing that I did _not_ see which I expected to was the glow of a watchman's lamp. The warehouse was clearly still in use, so the presence of a watchman was a necessary deterrent against thieves. Had he been bribed to stay away so that the Obsidian Court would have a free hand to operate tonight? _Ordered_ to do so, if the Obsidian Court somehow now owned the warehouse? Or had he been removed by violence, knocked out, bound and gagged, or just killed?

While it was only to be expected that the watchman wouldn't be there, as the Herald or whomever would hardly want witnesses to his meeting with Lautrec, the absence of the guard was another sharp reminder to me that I was walking onto hostile ground. This wasn't just a place my enemies were using, but that they had at least some measure of control over. My senses were at a fever pitch as I prowled forward into the gloom, straining for any presence, any sign that I was not alone. I was earlier than the appointed time, of course, but the unlocked door had been a clear signal that things had already begun. And if I was in the Herald or whomever's position, I'd certainly have arrived early to secure the ground against traps or betrayal. A man who'd burn three women to death was hardly a reliable, trustworthy business partner.

_Eyes in the darkness_, I thought. I could feel them watching me as I edged through the warehouse. Whether it was reality or just my imagination, I couldn't tell.

A creak.

Faint, but I distinctly heard it—a creak, as of rope under great stress. _From where?_

_Above!_

There was no time to think or analyze; I had to act! I heard a slithering sound as I flung my body aside; only later did I realize that it was the noise of rope running through a pulley. A heavy net full of crates and casks plunged downwards. If I hadn't moved, I'd have been right underneath it; as it was I took a solid blow to my left side that sent me sprawling, my gun skittering away, jarred out of my hand by the blow.

_That's twice tonight I've lost my gun!_ echoed through the back of my mind, but the rest of me was already in action. _Someone_ had tried to drop those crates on me, and had nearly ended up crushing me like an ant. I craned my head to look up into the rafters while my right hand dug under my jacket for my second revolver.

_There!_ It was a figure in the crossing beams beneath the angled roof. Its arm came up above its head and I flung my body to one side, rolling since I was already on the ground. I heard the dull sounds of impacts behind me and when the movement carried my head around to face that way I saw two throwing knives, plain and flat-bladed, jutting up from the floor and a third, which had hit badly, lying down. I knew how hard it was to throw accurately on a near-vertical from a height, so it was obvious the figure was good. Lying on my back, I managed to wrench the gun free and bang off two shots, but there was no apparent effect—shooting almost straight up in a dark room with a revolver with a two-inch barrel wasn't exactly a recipe for good marksmanship.

The shots did provoke my would-be assassin to action, though; the figure grabbed a rope that had been wound around the angled support beam behind it and swung down away from me. The killer then slid down the rope as it came to full extension from the crossbeam its other end was tied to and dropped behind a row of crates. I fired again while the killer dropped, but I was just wasting ammunition at that point.

I pushed myself to my feet and flexed my aching left arm; it hurt like blazes but at least for now I at least had a full range of movement, and I'd have time enough later to coddle myself about pain. I had to catch the assassin! If this was an advance guard, he could warn off the man I needed to get to, and if it _was_ that man the urgency spoke for itself.

I was already running towards the wall of crates as those thoughts ran through my head. Another thought hit me a second later: I'd been blessedly lucky that my wild shots had missed. Adrenaline had taken over in the wake of the surprise attack and I'd defended myself with lethal force against lethal force—but it was stupid, stupid to risk killing someone who might be the very person I needed to talk to! I could only stop the First District by reaching the Obsidian Prince, and to do that I needed information, not corpses. Dead Heralds told no tales.

The line of stacked crates was solid, with no way through. I veered to the left, towards the nearest gap between stacks. I lunged through, then suddenly jerked to the side as another knife came spinning at my face. The assassin hadn't been fleeing at all, just moving to a less-exposed ambush site! Stupidly, I'd rushed right into the trap!

The ideal solution would have been to threaten with the gun and if that didn't work cripple the killer with a leg shot. On level ground I'd wager I could shoot better than she could throw knives.

Yes, she. We were only a few feet away and I could tell that the killer was a woman, a hair shorter than me, slim of build, wearing a man's shirt and pants like I did. Even her hair was short, with a razor sharp lower edge descending to a point just in front of her collarbone on her left side, but weirdly worn long on the right. In the strange, shifting light of the warehouse, the dark hair took on an almost greenish tinge.

I took in these details in an instant, because she had sprung at me the moment she saw her knife would miss. Her only chance against a gun was to get in close where she could fight off my aim. Though off-balance I still tried to get the barrel up and around, but she whipped her left hand—holding yet another knife—out in a cut at my gun-hand. I yanked my hand back at the last second, keeping the knife from slashing into flesh, and the blade hit the revolver barrel instead. The blow jarred the gun loose; I was lucky to slip my finger from the trigger guard instead of having it broken.

Unlike me, she'd have no qualms in using _her_ weapons to cut me down; I had to do something about the knife. Abandoning the gun entirely I instead swung my left hand over to grab her knife-wrist and twisted savagely. She dropped the knife but hit me at once up under my left arm which exposed my side. Thankfully she got my ribs instead of the armpit but given the number of times I'd been hit tonight it was starting to seriously hurt! I grunted and she followed up with a second punch that I barely avoided by twisting her body down and away; she shifted her footing and countered, kicking me behind the knee so that I stumbled forward, so that she wrenched her arm free of my grip and snapped the heel of her hand up under my chin. I went over backwards, seeing stars.

The jolt of pain up my tailbone as I landed on my rump helped clear my head and I snatched out my own knife from my boot-top as I got quickly to my feet.

"So this is the great Natsuki Kuga," the woman sneered at me. "Hardly someone to be afraid of. This is why that idiot isn't fit to be the Obsidian Prince's Herald. There was no point in pussyfooting around with you; I should have just killed you woman to woman, right from the start."

"You're _not_ the Herald?" _Damn it!_ Was I wasting my time—and quite possibly my life—for nothing, here?

She smiled at me, a cruel smile like I imagined a snake would have if snakes had lips.

"When I kill you, I will be."

Our short conversation let me get a better look at her face, and I could see that her eyes were angular, epicanthic folds denoting a mixture of European and Asian blood like myself. That could account for Lautrec's "like a Chinaman" comment, though I didn't see how she could pass for male for any length of time. But then again, people saw what we expected to see, and maybe she was a decent mimic who could disguise her voice.

"I'm worth that much to you?"

Her sneer grew.

"Apparently so. It's clear now that your survival thus far had more to do with dumb luck than any particular special skills. Why, just look at how you walked into this little trap!"

"Trap?"

"Of course. You don't think you came here by cleverness, do you? Lautrec was _told_ about this place specifically. If he succeeded in killing you, then fine. If not, then you were primed to be lured here, onto the killing ground." Her smile vanished for a moment. "I can't think how you dodged those crates; you shouldn't have seen a thing." The smile came back. "But I'm so happy that you did. There's no fun killing someone from thirty feet away. It's so much better when I can feel bones snap under my hand, a windpipe crushed in my fingers, that slight resistance as I push the knife through flesh."

With that remark, she produced another knife, this one with a proper grip for fighting unlike her throwing knives, a six-inch blade—and a row of saw-like teeth down the cutting edge. If I'd needed any more confirmation, that settled the point that I was looking at Bill Wilton's killer.

The short conversation, though, had given me the chance to catch my breath, and when she lunged at me I was ready. Unlike Lautrec, this woman was _good_ at knife-fighting; now that she wasn't focused on disarming me she kept her thrusts and cuts short and quick, not exposing herself. Steel rang off steel as our blades clashed together; I'd have preferred to parry her arm (and she mine) but she didn't give me the chance, always keeping the blade between us.

More than once, the edge of my knife caught in the serrated teeth of her blade, pulling on it for an instant. That went both ways, but the assassin clearly was more familiar with the effect than I was and always reacted faster, more surely. Twice she nearly ripped the knife from my hand by using the momentary locking to drag my weapon out of position and I ended up giving ground.

The fact that Kanzaki had never given me back my derringer last night hit home sharply at that point. A second weapon, at this range, was what I needed to tip the odds in my favor. I gave up wishing, though, as a series of rapid strikes made me quickly backpedal again.

The problem with going backwards in a fight is that there's no way to see where you're stepping because your eyes are always on your opponent. That isn't a problem when you're in open space or know the environment well, but I didn't have either one of those going for me. I took one too many steps back and my shoulders bumped up against a massive wine-cask just as I parried another cut by the assassin. The unexpected impact jolted me, and my knife went spinning away, jarred out of my hand.

In desperation I dove my left hand towards my vest pocket where my derringer usually waited. The bluff worked; rather than just stab me and risk getting shot in return—a trade I knew this woman wasn't willing to make—she lunged at me, grabbing at my wrist with her empty hand. She wanted me to die painfully, to enjoy my suffering, but that meant giving me a few extra seconds of life in which I could put a bullet in her. No, she definitely didn't want me getting a gun out!

What she didn't know, of course, was that I was out of firearms and so my motion was only a feint. My foot whipped up in a completely unexpected kick, taking her on the point of the hip, and as she stumbled, I hit her with a straight left to the mouth that snapped her head back, opening her up for a high kick that sent her sprawling and her nasty little saw-knife skittering away across the floor.

"Let's see how well you do when it's just woman-to-woman, without any of your toys," I challenged her, but the assassin didn't seem up for a challenge. Instead, she rolled to her feet and ran for it, darting back towards the same gap I'd chased her through.

I cursed under my breath and took off after her. I hesitated as I turned, afraid that she'd just ducked around the corner to hit me if I rushed through recklessly a second time, but she hadn't. She was in sight, running away through the warehouse. I was between her and the door I'd entered by, but there was another one, the large door by which goods were brought in and out on the river side of the warehouse. She hurdled a crate as I charged after her, then turned and dashed along another row. I could see a sliver of moonlight through a crack between the loading doors; they were open, a route by which she might be able to get away. Gritting my teeth, I redoubled my speed. I _had_ to catch this woman!

Suddenly, the assassin swerved sharply to her right and scooped something up off a crate. There was a rattle of metal on metal, and she spun towards me, flinging her hand out! She'd picked up a length of heavy chain and was swinging it at me almost like a whip! I ducked just in time; the chain whistled by above my head, missing only by inches.

"Decided to fight after all, did you?"

She didn't respond, but instead sent the chain out at me again, this time whipping it low, at my feet. I jumped over it cleanly, but that was a mistake; I should have jumped forwards instead of just in place. I came down cleanly and charged, but I'd only gotten a couple of steps when the chain came in again at waist-height and took me hard in the side. I grunted with pain as my already bruised torso took another shot just below my ribs, but I seized my only chance and, while the chain was held up against my body, grabbed it in both hands. I pulled, trying to tear the weapon away.

My would-be killer fought back, trying to wrench the chain out of my hands, and it was immediately clear that neither one of us was a master of this weapon. Someone trained to fight with a chain or whip could properly apply leverage, knowing how it would react, to keep it from being pulled away by such tricks, but neither of us had that knowledge so strength or luck would settle it.

Proof that she realized this came when she suddenly stopped fighting me and flung her end of the chain at my head. Again, I only ducked just in time, taking a glancing blow off my shoulder, but I slung the chain behind me where she couldn't get to it.

She'd taken off running again almost the instant the chain had left her hands, and she got cleanly to the loading doors. They were heavy, though, and she had to put her weight against one to widen the opening enough for her to get through. That allowed me to close the ground, and as I stepped outside onto the ramp I launched myself into a tackle. My shoulder slammed into her lower back, I wrapped my arms around her, and we hit the ground just past the edge of the wooden ramp and out into the street. She was under me and hit hard, crying out sharply.

I tried to take advantage of my position and drove two hard punches to her kidneys from behind, but she was able to reverse things by swinging an elbow around that clipped the side of my head. My vision swam for a second and she hit me in the stomach, then knocked me sprawling off her onto the street. We both regained our feet slowly, slipping almost by reflex into balanced fighting stances.

Blood was trickling from a cut on her forehead; she'd hurt herself when I'd tackled her. There was no dizziness or apparent vertigo in her movements, though, as she whipped a kick up at me. I blocked, but pain shot through my left arm and I winced. Her leg flicked back, then hammered into my bruised ribs, the pain from the first hit giving her the opening she needed to get past my guard. I went staggering back, and she came after me, keeping after my injured side. I retreated further; we got across the street to the river's edge, where several small piers for steam launches and other boats jutted out into the black water; planks groaned under my boots as I turned my stance, presenting my right side towards her.

"I guess I didn't need to worry after all," she sneered at me. "You were supposed to be so great at hand-to-hand fighting, but you're no better than I am."

"Tell you what," I growled. "We'll drop a stack of crates on you and then we'll be even."

She came in again with a quick combination of punches that I slipped and countered with a quick jab that hit her cheek a glancing blow. She got past my guard with another punch, but thought it had done more to hurt me than it had and overextended, leaving her vulnerable as I slipped that blow and hit her in the belly with a quick knee, then turned and landed an elbow in the sternum and flipped her over, using my hip as a fulcrum. She grunted as the weathered boards rattled under her, and I thought that I had her, even started to twist her arm into a lock, but before I could finish she reacted, no doubt realizing how desperate her situation was just like I would have in her place. She whipped her legs around in a scything circle, hammering into the back of mine and cutting them out from under me. I flailed for balance, but I went down, the back of my head hitting the planks hard.

I may have actually blacked out for a moment; in any case my senses swam from the pain and she got to her feet before I could even order my muscles to start pushing me up. Even as I started to rise, she pounced, slamming me back down.

"This is convenient. Just think, Natsuki Kuga, I don't even have to drag your body to the river. You're right here already. Just a little trip out in that rowboat over there and over the side you go."

She wasn't just wasting her time talking; her hands had flown right to my throat in a choking grip, cutting off the flow of air like a vise. I thrashed desperately, but the assassin was using her weight to pin my body down and I couldn't get any leverage. The injuries I'd taken, the blow to the head, and the rapidly dwindling supply of oxygen were all sapping my strength so that my struggles became feebler and feebler, little more than helpless twitching.

I felt a drop of blood from her cut forehead splash on my cheek. _I hope it at least leaves a scar, you crazed bitch._ I wondered, now, what Shizuru would do once I was dead. Would she be smart enough to leave well enough alone, writing me off as the victim of a futile vendetta against something I couldn't hope to defeat? Or would she try to follow up the case—_my_ case—in my place, driven by what they had done to us both? The way she'd talked made me afraid that it would be the latter.

I'd never been a particular devotee of any of the faiths of my various racial and national backgrounds, but in that moment I prayed as hard as I ever had that if God was listening He would keep Shizuru safe.

Then thunder roared.

No—_gunshots_! Two of them! The assassin's back arched; her grip slackened, as dark patches bloomed on the front of her shirt, and then, slowly, she toppled off me. Her body struck the edge of the pier, and she slithered limply over the side to slip into the darkness of the Thames.

I coughed and gagged, wheezing in desperately needed air, then rolled over and pushed myself up to my hands and knees. Footsteps echoed dully on the wood and I raised my head to see the elegant, immaculately dressed figure of my rescuer. A thin curl of smoke rose from the barrel of the Navy Colt used to shoot the woman and joined the fog.

"Kanzaki," I muttered. "Oh, this is rich. First you try to put me in jail, and now I owe you my life?"

"It is ironic, isn't it?" he said evenly. I expected there to be a smirk there—in his smile, his tone, or even just his gaze—but I didn't see anything. Which should have told me. "Particularly when you consider that I'm under orders to take it."


	17. Chapter 17

The pieces fell into place one after another. Lautrec's description of the person who'd hired him, for one: he had said a man, and Kanzaki was of fully Japanese heritage. I could hardly expect a European dockyard thug to be able to discern the features of different Asian ethnicities.

"It's you," I said. "You're the bloody Herald. You're the one who's been sending thugs after me, having bricks dropped at my head, carriages set to run me down."

Kanzaki nodded.

"I am." For some reason, he didn't sound smug about it. "Or rather, I was."

"That woman said she'd be the Herald if she killed me. Someone out to take your place, I suppose. So what's next? You shoot me, then claim I did for her before you had to step in and do the job?"

"I could do that," he acknowledged, "but what would be the point?"

He put the revolver away into his overcoat pocket, then took several quick steps forward and extended the hand he'd been holding the gun in towards me. I considered ignoring it, then shrugged.

"Oh, what the hell?"

I took Kanzaki's hand and he helped me back to my feet.

The sound of running footsteps caused us to both look up the street. Was this some new threat, I wondered? Yet another stage in the attack?

The figure that emerged from the fog and darkness, though, wasn't that of another killer. Instead, it was a uniformed bobby, truncheon in hand, that came running towards us.

"Here, now, what's all this?"

"Pardon me, Constable?" Kanzaki said.

"There were gunshots just a minute ago from this direction," he said suspiciously.

"I know. I fired them."

"Kanzaki—" I began.

"What's that, then? You admit it?"

"I don't think 'admit' is quite the word, Constable." Kanzaki held out his hand, a card in it. The constable peered at it closely in the dim light cast by the nearest street lamps.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Chief Inspector." The constable touched the brim of his helmet in a salute. I suppressed a blush; I'd genuinely forgotten Kanzaki's position with the police for a moment, I was so focused on his role in the Obsidian Court.

"Quite all right, Constable; I appreciate your diligence. Miss Kuga and I were pursuing a suspect from that warehouse and I fired warning shots. Unfortunately, he didn't stop."

"Too bad, sir. Can I be of assistance?"

"No, now that the suspect is gone we have matters under control. It's best you go ahead and resume your beat."

The constable nodded.

"Yes, sir."

In moments we were alone again.

"You lie well," I remarked sarcastically.

"I've had too much practice. But then again, so have you. I wonder what Shizuru would think, if she knew? Or did you finally tell her everything tonight?"

I flinched.

"How did you—?"

"You have me to thank, by the way, for the fact that no one has gone after Shizuru until now. I've seen how the two of you are when you work together, and even during the Crosby case I could tell that you and she had not combined forces as it concerns the Obsidian Court. Therefore, no attempts were made on Shizuru's life, despite the voices of those who believed it was idiotic to think you wouldn't use the services of London's best private inquiry agent to help you hunt us down."

"Are you calling me an idiot?"

"Now, now, there's no point in getting worked up over it."

"And if you weren't trying to kill Shizuru, then what about the attempt to run us down outside Merridew's house? Or sending Lautrec and his men to burn down 221 Baker Street with us inside? That's not what I'd call leaving her out of it."

He sighed.

"I know. That was Tomoe."

"Tomoe?"

"The woman who was attempting to strangle you to death a moment ago? Her name was Tomoe Marguerite."

"French?"

"Belgian, actually. I'm not certain of her background beyond the fact that her family was _nouveau riche_ a generation ago, then market shifts ruined her parents and she was left to fend for herself. She was completely insane, highly intelligent, and took pleasure in degrading, injuring, or killing others."

"She sounds like just your kind of person, Kanzaki. You should have made a match of it."

I expected some kind of comeback from him for the insult, but he didn't say a thing. I didn't get it at all. Even the hints of a smirk he'd shown earlier when he'd shot Tomoe had vanished, replaced by a dull resignation.

"Look, Kanzaki, what's going on here? If you were behind the attempts to kill me, then why are you saving my life now? What part of all this am I not getting?"

He nodded.

"I suppose it all makes no sense whatsoever to you by this point. Come with me; you need to retrieve your pistols and so on from the warehouse, and I need to clean up after Tomoe. The workers will be in to start the day by six. But the short answer is, the Obsidian Prince raised me up, used me for his purposes, and now intends to toss me away. While my life is essentially ruined at this point, I prefer that to being dead."

"Are you expecting sympathy?"

"I don't believe that I have quite fallen into that level of stupidity as yet."

We crossed the street and went up the landing dock into the warehouse. Kanzaki pulled the door shut, then chained and padlocked it.

"We bribed the foreman and night watchman to let us use the warehouse tonight. It wasn't hard; after the police broke up the smuggling ring Shizuru found, the Obsidian Court took over Clark's contacts where we found them useful and one of our members bought into the Vamberry firm—which without the smuggling revenue, began to fail almost at once."

"So, what? Because you were the investigator on the Vamberry case you gave that information to your masters in the Obsidian Court?"

"Essentially. Success in business is all about information. If you know more than your rivals, you can make your moves faster and reap the profits. That applies whether that information comes from legitimate or underhanded means."

"You really are a worm, Kanzaki."

He lit a lantern, probably the watchman's, so we could see what we were doing. I tried to remember where I was when I'd been disarmed of my various weapons, all the while keeping an eye on the corrupt Scotland Yarder. Just because he'd apparently had a change of heart didn't mean there wasn't another nasty surprise on the way.

"I don't know if it makes any difference to you, but I was a member of the Obsidian Court long before I ever joined the police force. So yes, I may have betrayed my oath, but I kept my promises in the order I'd given them."

"Forgive me for not being impressed that you decided to keep the oath to belong to a group of murdering, thieving, spying bastards," I sneered.

Kanzaki just sighed.

"I doubted you'd care. Nonetheless, the plain truth is that I owe everything I am to the Obsidian Court. I was born in Japan, to a dirt-poor family. I was lucky enough to learn English as a child from a foreign sailor who'd settled in our village. He'd been on the losing side of one of the battles between the shogun's forces and the daimyo, the same side our headman supported." He shrugged. "In any case, I had nothing to gain by staying, and I was ambitious, so I decided to emigrate. I stowed away on a ship, worked my passage to Macau, and from there went to Calcutta and on to England.

"Only, England proved hardly to be the land of promise for me. I was a foreigner, beyond that an Asian, and I had no family ties to assist me in the Japanese community here, so I had no place in either culture."

"I thought the Kanzaki family was kind of a big noise in trade?"

"They are. Except that I'm not a Kanzaki at all. My real family name is Minagi."

I stared at him.

"Even your _name_ is a lie?"

He shrugged again.

"Like I said, everything I am I owe to the Obsidian Court. 'Reito Kanzaki' is basically a legend they created. I'm an actor playing the part, no more."

"Bloody hell."

I found my left-hand pistol near where the crates had dropped.

"It was simple enough. Junichi Kanzaki had forged ties with the Obsidian Court, knowing that he needed English partners if he was going to be successful in this country, while in turn he offered them inroads into Japanese markets. He did not, however, have an heir, and was not able to father one. So he came up with me, to be presented as a son who had just arrived from Japan. This permitted him to save face, you see, concerning his virility."

"So what, you were just plucked off the street?"

"I'd been observed by Obsidian Court members, who'd taken note of my intelligence, my facility with both languages, and my looks—better to have someone who could cut a dashing figure, after all. They presented me with the offer as a chance to better myself, and I took it at once."

"You didn't even think twice about abandoning your family name, your past, everything you'd been up until that point?"

"No, I didn't," he said frankly. It struck me that this was the first time since I'd met the man that I actually trusted what he was telling me without that nagging suggestion at the back of my brain that he was a piece of conniving slime. "I'd already abandoned my past and my family by coming to England. What was a name if it meant that I could get the benefit of a new future and a chance for success? But then, I suppose that a woman who has devoted her entire life to avenging the death of a parent wouldn't understand that."

"No, I can't say that I would."

He collected the knives Tomoe had thrown from the rafters at me.

"So how did you end up in the police?" I asked. "It seems kind of an odd step, from adopted heir of a robber baron involved with a criminal secret society, to Scotland Yard."

"That was the First District at work again. As you probably guessed, the Obsidian Court gains substantial benefit from its influence in various circles of power outside the purely financial. That includes the military, government service, and yes, the police."

"Superintendent Concannon..." I murmured.

"Oh? Yes, as a matter of fact, although he's only a Third District member, who sees the Obsidian Court as nothing more than an 'old boys' club,' as it were. That's one reason why I was chosen. As the son of an influential and powerful family, backed by the Obsidian Court, I would be groomed for promotion through the ranks. As it turned out, I happened to have an aptitude for the work, which suited everyone's plans; it made my promotion both believable and more acceptable to those passed over than if it had been a matter of connections alone.

"This is what the patronage of the Obsidian Prince brought to me: a home and place in society with Kanzaki, a career with Scotland Yard, and an inevitably a rise in influence within the Obsidian Court itself. Three years ago, I was made the Obsidian Prince's Herald, for my skill in investigating a situation, determining the facts, and resolving it discreetly and efficiently, whether diplomatically or by other means."

"So exactly how many innocent people have you murdered in the name of the Obsidian Prince, Kanzaki?" I sneered. His air of self-pity was not impressing me worth a jot.

"None, I hope. That's not to say that innocents haven't been threatened, intimidated, coerced, or harmed outright to get them to leave off doing something, but I've always counseled that lethal methods are the tool of a brute who doesn't know any better, but saved for use only when necessary."

"I qualify as 'necessary' and 'not innocent'?"

"A career criminal, known to use violence and carry arms, with a blood tie to an enemy of the Order, known to have been investigating a number of our members?" He arched an eyebrow at me. "And, which I didn't know at the time but the Obsidian Prince did, with a vendetta for the killing of your mother, as carried out by my predecessor."

He had a point, though I'd rather chew nails than admit it to him, so I remained silent.

"I'd forgotten one important fact, though, as full as myself as I'd become. A puppet may sing and dance and fight and do amazing things, but only so long as the puppetmaster pulls its strings. That's all I was, a puppet of the Obsidian Prince. I carried out his will, just like my hands carry out what my brain orders. And when he was done with me, he threw me away."

"Tomoe?"

He nodded.

"He'd already been grooming her for a year or so, I found out. He took my willingness to be diplomatic, you see, for a lack of ruthlessness, so he found himself a candidate who positively enjoyed violence. He'd already brought her in, independently of what I was doing, but when I didn't arrest you last night—or yesterday morning—we were ordered to finish things. What I wasn't told, but found out anyway, was that once you were dealt with, she was to kill me."

"It sounds like a standard promotion method for assassins. I can see why you killed Tomoe, but can we get to the part as to why you saved me? You could have shot her just as easily after I was dead, but instead you saved my neck—literally. That's why you picked _here_ for the ambush—you knew I'd be suspicious of the coincidence and it would put me on my guard something was wrong!"

He nodded.

"There are two reasons for that. One is that Tomoe Marguerite was a first-class killer with an animal's instinct for danger and an insane proclivity to assume others are plotting to harm her. I had very little chance of eliminating her on my own. By allowing you to fight with her, her attention was commanded; it gave me the opportunity to strike."

I actually believed that.

"So what's the other reason?"

"I'm a marked man now. Tomoe wasn't the one out to kill me; she was only the murder weapon. It's the Obsidian Prince who wants me dead." He smiled wryly at me. "I believe you understand the circumstances?"

"Yesterday you wanted me dead; today you're in the same boat with me." I didn't have to be Shizuru to fill in the gaps. "You want me to kill the Obsidian Prince for you."

"With Tomoe dead, it will take him time to realize precisely what is going on and send out fresh assassins. If he dies before that, then there's no one left who knows enough to threaten me."

"What about the Elders?"

"Mrs. Abernetty, Baron Maupertuis, and Mr. Merridew are all dead already, and there's been no time to elevate anyone to their place."

I flinched.

"Mrs. Abernetty?" I knew the name; she'd been another of those listed in John Smith's Obsidian Court contacts, like Maupertuis. I'd learned almost nothing about her, though, and had had no idea that she was significant—or that she was dead.

"She died five days ago, an apparent suicide, but there were certain inconsistencies which suggested it might have been murder...although the evidence also suggested there was no way anyone else besides she herself could have done it. It terrified Merridew; he was convinced that since we had put out a death order on you, you had done the same to them."

"That explains the conversation the Baroness saw, where Merridew seemed agitated. I gather Maupertuis didn't believe him?"

"Exactly. He doubted you had any idea of the Elders' identities and that the suicide was just a suicide."

"He was right," I admitted. "I didn't even learn that there _were_ such things as Elders or the Obsidian Prince until the night Merridew was killed, and Maupertuis was the only one my contact could name."

Kanzaki nodded.

"I thought as much. You see, I believed you—and Shizuru. It's why I didn't arrest you. The assassination of the Elders was to my mind more important than settling with you, but as I said, the Obsidian Prince disagreed. It's quite ironic, Kuga; the only man who believed in your innocence was the one tasked with arranging your death. Of course, that didn't change the need, from the Order's point of view, of having you removed."

"Of course," I said sourly. I tucked my other pistol and my knife back where they went. "Do you think the Obsidian Prince might have done it? A kind of housecleaning? He was willing to do the same thing to you, after all, and it would explain why he was so insistent on blaming me—not as the killer, just as the scapegoat."

"I had considered that," Kanzaki said, "but decided that it was unlikely. For one thing, if he had had them killed, he would have used either myself or Tomoe to arrange it. I can't imagine that he had a _third_ assassin as well. And also, if I am any judge of such things, his fear is genuine; he truly believes that he's going to be assassinated. He's discharged all his usual servants, for example, replacing them with armed bodyguards. His house had been all but turned into a fortress; while it always was highly defensible anyway, he's completely locked it down, with vicious mastiffs patrolling the grounds."

I glared at him.

"And you want me to break into this 'fortress,' as you call it?"

He gave me an almost innocent look.

"Weren't you planning to, anyway?"

"You don't do that nearly as well as Shizuru," I remarked sourly.

He sighed.

"I suppose that I'm a little off, today. It isn't easy to contemplate the ruin of one's life."

I could almost sympathize. What he was going through sounded a lot like how I'd felt when Porlock had told me that my mother had belonged to the Second District. Since then I hadn't had much more of a chance to think about it, what with the attempts to kill me reminding me that this wasn't a situation where I _could_ worry about my underlying purposes, but the issue was still there, the sense that I had built my life on shifting sand. Then again, I'd done it for the love of my family. Kanzaki had done it for ambition and power, and I had no doubt that without the hard lesson he was getting now he'd have gone right on lying, betraying, and killing. Like I said, I could _almost_ sympathize.

He took a folded packet of paper out of his inner overcoat pocket and handed it to me.

"I sketched a map of the Obsidian Prince's home for you. His name and address are written at the bottom."

I unfolded the map at once; the plan was incomplete, probably owing to the fact that Kanzaki hadn't actually seen the entire interior. My eyes only skimmed over that, though, instead homing in on the name and address at the bottom in Kanzaki's machine-precise handwriting.

They meant nothing to me.

I had never heard of this man. I hadn't encountered his name in my investigation of the Obsidian Court. He wasn't a person I had talked to once in passing and put out of my head until now, the way it would have been in one of my mystery novels. He wasn't even some famous person whose identity at the head of this conspiracy would shock and amaze me. He was just a man, just a name.

But then again, maybe that was the way it should be. My enemy wasn't a man, not a human being with failures, foibles, and reasons for his actions. My enemy was the Obsidian Prince, and it was much easier to keep that in mind when his identity was meaningless than if it had turned out to be Sergeant Tate or Father Joseph Greer or Porlock or Takumi Tokiha, someone like that.

"Does he have a wife? A family?" I asked as I pocketed the map.

"No. In a way, I think he's been completely consumed by the Obsidian Prince. It's only through that role that he lives."

That was so close to what I'd just thought that it was eerie. But I was glad. I didn't want innocents underfoot, in harm's way. And who knew if a son or daughter might not seek vengeance, just as I had done?

"Thank you," I said. "I know you're only giving me this information to help yourself, but I still appreciate it."

Which left only one thing.

"Before I get going, hopefully never to see your face ever again, I'd like to tell you a story, Kanzaki."

"A story?"

I nodded.

"It's about a little girl," I began, "around ten years old. Her parents died from disease, a plague that killed half the people in their home village, so her grandfather decided that rather than stay in a ravaged area, they should travel far away in search of a new opportunity and a new life. Only, the grandfather was old and frail and a long sea voyage proved to be too much for him; he fell ill and died on the way.

"The girl, therefore, arrived in a foreign country all by herself. She had one family member, an older brother, who had made the same journey several years before, but try as she might, she could find no trace of him. Alone and friendless, with no community to belong to, not even knowing the language, she ended up living on the streets, scrounging through garbage for food, sleeping wherever she could find shelter, turning as feral as the stray cats that were her usual companions."

"Does this girl have...a name?" Kanzaki asked, a catch in his voice.

"Mikoto Minagi," I told him what he'd already guessed. "She lived like that for around two years, becoming more animal than human, before my friend Mai caught her trying to steal food from the kitchen of Mai's restaurant in Limehouse. Mai being who she is, she gave Mikoto a bath, a hot meal, a change of clothes, and a place to sleep. She's as good as adopted Mikoto into her family now; she and her brother Takumi treat Mikoto like their own little sister. Still, Mikoto's never given up hope that some day she'll be reunited with her _ani-ue_."

Kanzaki stared at me with a stricken expression on his face. He reeled, as if his legs were refusing to support him, and he half-sat, half-collapsed onto a nearby crate and buried his face in his hands. I spun on my heel and began to walk towards the warehouse door as hot tears trickled between his fingers.

I never did decide whether I'd told him out of kindness, or cruelty.

~X X X~

_A/N: Yep, For Spite pegged it again in his/her Ch. 6 review by noticing that Natsuki's "keep Shizuru out of it" stance was working only because a high-ranking Court member was keeping her out of it._


	18. Chapter 18

It was after dawn when I returned to Baker Street, stiff, aching, and dead tired. I'd been running on an adrenaline high all night, from waking up in mortal danger, through the interrogation and anticipation of what came next to the fight with Tomoe to Reito Kanzaki's myriad revelations. Now the crash had come, my exertions and injuries making me feel my lack of sleep all the worse.

Since having the police underfoot while I was planning to confront the Obsidian Prince wasn't the best timing I could imagine, I suggested that Lautrec and his thugs could be let free. I assumed that happened, though if Mrs. Hudson had slit their throats and buried them in the root cellar I wouldn't have complained overmuch. The fact that Kanzaki had obviously sent them out _expecting them to fail_ did very little to raise my sympathy.

I wanted nothing more than to just collapse into bed for the next dozen hours, but I didn't have that option. Kanzaki had been right: I had a narrow window in which to act before the Obsidian Prince realized that his top two assassins and their contacts with thugs like Lautrec were lost and that he had to regroup. It was just like fighting: if my enemy lunged and got out of position, I only had a few seconds to counterpunch before he got his balance. If I was going to take a run at the Obsidian Prince it was going to have to be tomorrow night—_tonight_, actually, now that it was morning. Which meant that I needed to prepare during the day. I needed rest desperately, but also couldn't afford more than four or five hours' sleep at most.

Another reason I couldn't just drop into bed was the throbbing ache in my shoulder, left arm, and side. I knew from experience that if I just went to sleep I'd end up stiff as a board when I awoke—_not_ the best condition to be in when breaking and entering.

"Natsuki?"

And then there was Shizuru.

She'd greeted me upon my return with that mingling of worry and relief that I'd seen in the past from others but never had directed at myself before. It was the expression that said that a loved one had come through danger even though the details were still unclear; I'd seen it on wives to husbands and on parents to children, and I couldn't help but think to myself that it was true, that the comparison held. No, we weren't related by blood or by marriage, but even without those links, and no doubt enhanced by the times we'd risked our necks side-by-side, Shizuru and I had somehow in the course of eight months become family.

Now, she'd followed me back upstairs to our rooms. She'd held off on her questions downstairs, but I knew that it had only been a temporary respite. And now that we were in private, sure enough, she spoke up almost at once.

"Natsuki, what happened when you went out? You look like you've been in another fight."

"I was," I said. "I got caught in the middle of dueling plots."

"Dueling...?"

I nodded, which wasn't the best plan. Bobbing my head just made my skull feel worse. I really hoped I hadn't gotten a concussion.

"Yeah. The Obsidian Court's killers figured there was a chance we wouldn't get burnt to a crisp and so set up Lautrec to lead me into an ambush, where the crazy lady who murdered Wilton tried to add me to her tally. Except that the guy who gave her orders _expected_ us to deal with Lautrec and used me as a stalking horse to help him get out before the Obsidian Prince kills _him_. There's a tip for you, by the way: if you ever intend to have your right-hand henchman killed and replaced, don't ever let him find out about it ahead of time. So I'm alive and the assassin isn't, and I've got a clean shot at the Obsidian Prince—well, as clean as targeting the reclusive leader of a criminal secret society in the den where he's gone to ground can get, anyway."

"This does not sound simple. Natsuki also mentioned this title, 'Obsidian Prince,' right before she left. Does it mean what I think it does?"

"If you think it's the leader of the Obsidian Court, then yes."

"And you now know his identity." That part wasn't a question, since she already had the answer from what I'd said. "What of Wilton's murderer?"

"Dead—and no, before you ask, I didn't kill her. Actually, she nearly killed me. Probably would have, if Kanzaki hadn't come along when he did." I muttered under my breath. Not far enough under, though; Shizuru still heard me.

"Reito saved you? What was _he_ doing at your—oh. I had not realized he was capable of such duplicity."

"You figured it out pretty fast, though." I shrugged out of my jacked and tossed it over a chair, then set to work prying my boots off. My feet throbbed, but I knew myself well enough to be certain that was just from lack of sleep, not injury.

"It was the only reasonable interpretation of what you said. I cannot believe he just happened to come upon the place of your rendezvous in his capacity as a police inspector. Nor can I believe you would have brought him in on your own."

"True enough. I know I'm running solo on this one more than you'd like, but if I _did_ bring another person along to watch my back it would definitely be you. There's no question about that."

"Thank you, Natsuki." Her voice was thick with emotion as she said it, which surprised me a little; I'd been speaking nothing but the plain truth. A pretty obvious truth, at that.

"I suppose this actually means that I owe him twice over, once for saving my neck—even if it was to protect his own—and once for being the reason the Obsidian Court believed that you weren't involved in helping me with my little vendetta. Of course, he might have just been lying, but if not, then his knowledge of how you and I work together was the only reason my keeping you in the dark worked to protect you for as long as it did. I suppose that means that I should consider myself square with him. Oh," I added as I struggled out of my waistcoat, "did you know he turned out to be Mikoto's older brother? Even his name was phony." I yanked my collar and cravat off.

"Mikoto? Do you mean the girl from Mai's, the one who keeps her hair in braids?"

"Yeah; funny coincidence, isn't it? Do you know where the liniment is? If I don't take care of these bruises I'm going to stiffen up like a board."

"It is with the rest of the first-aid supplies where it always is," she chided.

"You keep putting things away; how do you ever find then?" It wasn't so much that I was a slob...mostly. It was just easier to find things while they were sitting out and I could see them. When stuff was put away out of sight I tended to forget. It always amazed me that someone as generally lazy as Shizuru was so tidy in her personal habits; I'd have expected to find her correspondence jackknifed to the mantel or tea leaves stuffed into the toe of a Persian slipper or something.

She didn't dignify my complaint with a response, since even I had to admit that it didn't deserve one. I fetched the first-aid bag and took out the bottle of liniment and a gauze pad. Setting them aside, I started to undo the buttons of my shirt, slipping them out one by one.

"Did Reito tell you anything else?"

I nodded.

"Yeah, he did." I looked back at Shizuru; she was watching me with a strange intensity. "He cleared up some of what I guess we'd call your side of the case, the Maupertuis and Merridew murders."

I let the shirt slip off my shoulders and tossed it onto one of the chairs, then tugged my camisole over my head and did the same. The nice thing about being beaten and kicked instead of slashed was that it did a lot less damage to one's clothes. Despite my exhaustion, I felt strangely exposed standing like this, even though it was only before Shizuru. Maybe it was the fact that it was morning now and despite the blinds, our room was lit by daylight rather than the intimacy of artificial illumination. Or maybe it was _because_ I was so tired. For whatever reason, my skin prickled, almost like a feather or wisp of silk was being gently brushed over it.

"Oh? Did he discover who killed them and was holding back that information so the order could act on its own?"

"No, not that." I poured liniment onto the gauze pad and began to rub it into my skin, wincing at the initial cold touch. "But it turns out that they were both what they call Elders of the society, kind of like a high council. They and a Mrs. Abernetty, the third Elder, were all killed within the last week. The entire leadership of the Obsidian Court except for the Obsidian Prince himself has been purged. Well, Mrs. Abernetty might have been a suicide; apparently the whole thing was a bit of a puzzle. It's too bad you weren't called in by her family instead of Maupertuis's, since that's the kind of case you could really enjoy sinking your teeth into. Anyway, that's what had Merridew spooked, but Maupertuis figured it was what it looked like, not murder, which I guess is why he kept to his normal routine."

"Possibly this is why his murderer killed him first, before Mr. Merridew. As Mr. Merridew was already on his guard, a second killing would not cause him to change in any way, while if he were killed the Baron would certainly have taken notice and so taken precautions to make things more difficult for his killer."

I nodded.

"That makes sense. Pick off the vulnerable ones while there's a chance to do so."

"If Reito was from the Obsidian Court, then why did he save your life? You said something about him protecting himself?"

"Uh-huh." The warming effect of the liniment was starting to take effect as I continued to rub it in, refreshing the pad when necessary. "The way he explained it, the Obsidian Prince was getting scared and fed up because the Elders were dying and I wasn't. So he had a woman named Tomoe Marguerite—our throat-slashing cab driver, in fact—primed to execute Kanzaki and take his place once she'd killed me. So Kanzaki killed her to save me."

"And to save himself," Shizuru concluded.

"Exactly. He figured that if I took care of the Obsidian Prince for him, then he'd be free of them when the society collapses. Plus, if I screw it up he can always try for himself. Or maybe whomever's been killing the Elders will do it."

"Why go along with his plan at all? Why not let _him_ take care of matters?"

"About a half-dozen reasons. He might decide it's easier to kill _me_ than the Obsidian Prince and try to use my death as a peace offering. He might fail to kill the Prince and give them a chance to close ranks. He might succeed and cost me the chance to ever know why the Obsidian Prince killed my mother. It really doesn't make that much of a difference, does it?"

I started to turn to face Shizuru, then suddenly remembered that I was naked to the waist and spun back, cheeks flaming. I scooped up my shirt from where I'd dropped it and held it draped across my front, preserving at least the shreds of my modesty. It was a performance that should have provoked several remarks from Shizuru, but didn't draw even one. What we were talking about was too serious to be interrupted with jokes.

I realized that I missed those times; in truth I missed them badly. Times when things were free and easy between us instead of being caught up in deeply personal matters.

"And are you going to attempt to kill this 'Obsidian Prince,' Natsuki?" she asked solemnly.

"I'm—" I began, then realized all of a sudden that I didn't actually know the answer to that. "I'm going to confront him," I settled on what I _did_ know. "I need to see him face-to-face, and get some answers. I need to know what kind of person my mother really was, why the First District sent assassins after her, what it was they stole from her, and if any or all of it matters to me. He's the one who gave the orders, which means that he's the only one who can answer those questions now, fourteen years later."

I sighed heavily.

"My entire life since childhood has been based on the principle that my mother, whatever her flaws, was a good and innocent person who was viciously murdered, and that the people who got away with it then needed to be found and punished. I don't know if any of that is true any more. Now, I'm fighting for my life and I don't even know _why_. I could put a bullet into that man's head, and it wouldn't do any good if I didn't learn the answers to my questions. I'd still lie asleep nights, asking the darkness for answers, only instead of _who_ it'd be _why_. I...this...I want it to _end_, Shizuru. I'm so bloody _tired_ of...of it all...that I..."

I was trying to say more, but I was failing. My voice was thick and choked up; wetness stung at my eyes and suddenly, without warning, tears began to stream down my cheeks.

In the next instant, Shizuru had stood up and crossed to me, and then without any warning folded me in her arms. One of her hands gently cupped the back of my head, cradling it against her shoulder, while the other stroked my bare back in slow, rhythmic motions. I thought she might be saying something, but the low, caressing tones were impossible to find words in; even so her voice was soothing. Her touch was even softer and gentler than her silk kimono against my bare skin, and I couldn't help but let myself go. It all came pouring out of me, everything I'd held buried within myself, the loss, the pain, the stress, the exhaustion, and above all the fear. Fear for my own life, fear that everything I'd done for fourteen years was a waste, fear of losing my treasured memories of the only time in my life I'd felt loved and cherished, fear that through her association with me Shizuru would be dragged down. It all came out of me in one long, wordless, near-silent storm of weeping that seemed to go on forever before it finally sputtered out with several long, gasping breaths. I was trembling in her embrace when I could finally speak.

"I feel like such a fool."

"Natsuki..."

"Crying like a baby who's dropped her rattle out of her crib."

"That isn't true."

"I'm amazed you're not laughing like a hysteric right now."

"_Natsuki._"

I winced at the sharpness of her tone.

"...Sorry."

I made to pull away, but her arms remained firmly clasped around me.

"Natsuki," she repeated my name, "you have been under a terrifying strain of late. It is not weakness to be human once in a while."

"I can be human after it's over. When I'm finished with the past and the Obsidian Court and I can properly lay Mother to rest." I took a deep, rasping breath. "Until then, I need to keep my cool, keep in control."

I pulled back again, and this time Shizuru let me go.

"I understand," she said gently.

"Thank you."

It didn't take a Shizuru to realize that I meant more than for just the acknowledgement.

~X X X~

Four hours of deep, dreamless sleep could have become a dozen had the shrill ringing of my alarm-clock not torn me out of it. Even so, my vigor was at least partially restored, as shown in the way I savagely hit the small switch that silenced the bell. When I had gotten through the normal steps of getting up, I dressed not in my usual clothing but a pastel green walking-dress suitable to a middle-class woman of my age. I had to admit, I was looking forward to Shizuru's surprise when she saw how I was dressed, so I was disappointed when I found her absent. She'd left a note on the breakfast table, saying that she'd be out following up leads on the case, while Mrs. Hudson had left a cold collation for when I got up.

It was kind of sad, I thought, to not have Shizuru there. Strange, how her finally stepping back and giving me room actually made me miss the constant undercurrents of her presence.

Nonetheless, I had to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. Cliched at the thought was, I was likely going to get only one chance at this, and I couldn't afford to miss it. If the Obsidian Prince regrouped, I would be back on the defensive, dodging a fresh wave of thugs and assassins sent out by a new council of Elders, negating almost everything that had happened. I ate heartily, something I needed after the previous night's exertions almost as much as I'd needed sleep, and washed the food down with gulps of lukewarm coffee.

That dealt with, I went over to where I thought I'd dropped my coat when I'd taken it off, only to find it missing. Panic gripped me for a half-second as I looked around the room, only to be replaced by relief when I saw it on the coatrack. With her usual orderliness, Shizuru must have hung it up, just as she'd put away the medical supplies and my boots. I fished into the pocket and took out Kanzaki's sketch of the Obsidian Prince's home, then sat down at the desk to study it.

The fact was, though I called it a sketch, Kanzaki's plan, although incomplete, was almost up to the standard of an architectural draftsman's work, highlighting its creator's precise and organized mind. Moreover, there were also annotations, such as that the Obsidian Prince liked to work in the library rather than his study and how to operate the secret door into the vault-like safe room where he kept the Obsidian Court's master files (which secret door was, amazingly, _not_ in the library; apparently whomever had built the house actually had some imagination). For the better part of an hour I studied the plan diligently, committing it to memory and at the same time considering what my approach should be, various possible points of entry, and what I needed to accomplish it.

I wrote a short note to Shizuru in case she came back while I was out, so she wouldn't worry, then fetched my little-used reticule, pinned up my hair, and added a wide-brimmed hat that matched the dress, shading my face.

My first step was to see what I was up against, so I went to St. John's Wood, the pleasantly upscale area where the Obsidian Prince lived. The morning's fog had lifted, but gray clouds had rolled in, blanketing the sky with a dreary barricade, nearly black in patches. The taste of rain to come was in the air, and the streets of London were thronged by people who were out and about on a variety of errands that they hoped to complete before the skies opened. I supposed that I was basically the same.

I had the cab drop me off at one end of the lane and simply walked up the street, on the opposite side from the Obsidian Prince's home. Where my regular clothes would have attracted immediate attention, I was just one of a number of apparently ordinary people in the street, and the sedate, strolling pace suitable to a well-mannered young lady gave me plenty of opportunity to make observations without being obvious that I was "casing" the property. As I very much doubted that any of the Obsidian Prince's men knew me on sight—particularly from across the street with my face shaded—I did not believe that there was any danger of being seen from within the fortress.

And fortress it was. The moderately-sized grounds were entirely surrounded by an eight-foot-high brick wall, itself ringed by outward-slanting, closely-spaced iron spikes that provided a barrier to anyone attempting to scale the wall. The gate would be easier to climb, though it, too, was spike-topped, but not only was it locked but a large man in rough dress stood not far inside, ostensibly doing something with a rake but clearly a guard. Now and again as I walked I could hear the sounds of deep-throated barking. Undoubtedly these were the mastiffs Kanzaki had mentioned, but the sound actually cheered me. It told me something valuable about these dogs.

The house itself was of solid, Georgian construction, with a sharply slanted roof over two stories plus an attic level. The windows were large, but fitted with heavy shutters and, in the case of the ground-floor ones, iron bars that it would take acid or a file to cut through, or a forcing-tool to bend. That wouldn't do, not with guards and dogs and the like, so the ground-floor windows were out as a point of entry.

Combined with what I knew from Kanzaki's sketch, my plans were solidifying. I'd already known some obstacles I needed to get past, and this added more, but with enough determination, obstacles could be overcome. I wanted to rush on, to take the next step, but if there was someone watching the street—as I was sure there was—altering my pace as I passed the Obsidian Prince's house would mark me, make me stand out from the other pedestrians and negate the entire point of the disguise. Instead, I continued to stroll slowly, taking the time to go over in my mind, step by step, what equipment I believed I'd need and reviewing which I already owned and which I'd have to acquire. Finally, I got to the other end of the block, where there was a cab-stand, and I soon found myself on my way.

Stops at the chemist's, dry-goods store, butcher's, and one of those new department-stores took up much of the remainder of the afternoon, and I returned to Baker Street at around four o'clock. Shizuru had come back by then, and she eyed my packages assessingly.

"Natsuki seems to have made plans."

I nodded.

"I suppose it all seems silly to you."

"On the contrary, I am very pleased to see it."

"Huh? I'd have thought you'd be telling me to stay home."

Shizuru shook her head.

"Thinking pragmatically, that is not possible. This 'Obsidian Prince' wishes to kill you and will try again and again until he is stopped, whether by arrest, persuasion, or...other means. And I know, too, how important this is to you."

I nodded at her again.

"Fourteen, closer to fifteen now, years of my life have led to this point," I said. "Everything I've done, everything I've been, it's all been for this." I felt the butterflies in my stomach, the rising tension of anticipation. "It's all wasted if I turn back."

"Which is why I am happy to see you planning carefully," she said. "For something this emotionally provocative, and under time pressure, many people would charge in without thinking, and come to grief."

"Wouldn't that be a sad epitaph? Fourteen years of watching, waiting, planning, and training, all thrown away in one fit of hotheaded temper?" That _would_ have been pathetic, and I couldn't help but wonder if Shizuru was really trying to remind me to keep a cool head tonight in her usual oblique fashion. "Anyway, how did your day go? Did you learn anything important?"

She smiled at me, not with her usual inscrutable serenity but with deliberate provocativeness and mischief.

"You did! Do you know who killed Maupertuis and Merridew? It was that doctor, wasn't it? That Mrs. Abernetty really did kill herself and it spooked the other two Elders, so the Baroness and her lover decided it made a great chance to dispose of an unwanted husband and make it look like a secret-society affair by stealing the tie-pins, am I right?"

"I think," Shizuru said, "that Natsuki has more important things to concern herself with at the present."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Her continuing smile was her only response.

"Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"

"Natsuki can consider it motivation to take care and to come back safely so that she can learn the truth."

I snarled in frustration, then leveled a finger at her.

"All right, but I want your promise that you'll tell me everything when I get back. No games or waiting for a dramatic confrontation with the killer!"

That actually seemed to take her aback. Was she really so addicted to teasing me about the outcome of cases that it actually _bothered_ her to tell me straight out?

"I'm serious," I added. "I gave in and told you about my mother, and I'm staying here in the home of London's—hell, probably Europe's—best private detective and planning a crime in front of you. If I can trust you that much, then you can trust me with the solution to this of all cases."

Shizuru took a deep breath.

"Very well, I will tell Natsuki everything tonight, as she requests."

"About time." I had already gotten out my satchel, one with a shoulder sling for hands-free carrying, and set to collecting my other various tools of the trade such as firearms, knives, lockpicks, skeleton keys, and so on. I actually had the satchel half-packed by the time I realized that my little exchange with Shizuru had all but silenced the nerves I'd felt. Which made twice in the space of a few minutes that she'd done something that I suspected was really some backhanded way of helping me settle my head.

_Does it mean that I'm learning to be subtle, too, because I'm noticing?_ Was it like learning a foreign language, where the fastest way to learn was to be among native speakers conversing naturally in it? Living with Shizuru was like taking a full-immersion course in Oblique.

I looked back at Shizuru, but she revealed nothing, sitting there imperturbably with the ubiquitous cup of tea cradled in her hands.

Truth be told, while I would have loved to have heard what she'd found out, the important thing right then was that I wasn't going to trip over her side of the case while I was settling matters with the Obsidian Prince. I knew that if that were possible, she'd have told me about it, and anything else could wait. I finished packing my satchel and secured it shut, then went into the bedroom and changed out of my dress into something a bit more usual for me: dark trousers, a shirt in a gray hue, a short, dark jacket, and rubber-soled shoes. My jacket was not the specially-tailored one I usually wore to carry my revolvers, because I wasn't bringing them; I had the Mauser instead in a shoulder holster.

To wear over this notably masculine attire, I had my purchases from the department-store: a lady's full-length cloak and veiled hat. By wearing the cloak close about me, it would be possible to disguise my lack of skirts from a casual glance. I had removed all labels from these items, just in case the police proved to be more industrious than they ought to.

I went back out into the other room and set the hat and cloak beside the satchel.

"Natsuki is all prepared?"

I nodded.

"As I'll ever be."

I didn't know what was going to happen, whether I'd succeed or fail, or what, indeed, I intended to do, but I knew one thing: by the end of this night, in one way or another, this chapter of my life would be closed at last.


	19. Chapter 19

Shizuru and I shared a light supper while time crept by. It was a strange experience; there seemed to be a tacit agreement between us that nothing about the case would be discussed. With her information on hold until afterwards and nothing left to say about my upcoming "appointment," we ended up talking about utterly inconsequential things as the clouds grew darker and behind those clouds the sun sank. The taste of new tea blends, a new series of mystery short stories in the _Strand_ and why Shizuru felt they were unrealistic for the same reasons I loved them, a sale at my favorite lingerie seller, the next performance at Covent Garden of _Rigoletto_, the wedding plans for Mai's younger brother. Innocuous, every-day topics, the kind that any normal people might discuss.

Until the clock reached ten, its bell-like chimes cutting short those few innocent hours. I'd been laughing at some joke of Shizuru's, and all at once the laughter came to an abrupt stop like Cinderella at midnight.

"I need to go," I said.

Shizuru said nothing at first, watching me silently as I settled the satchel into place, then donned the cloak. The fact that I didn't have bulky skirts on gave enough room for the satchel; with it shifted around to my back it almost looked like I was wearing a bustle while making the sides fall symmetrically. I then donned the hat and lowered the veil, then went into the bedroom to check my reflection in the full-length mirror. I definitely looked like a woman who was trying to conceal something, but that something was more along the well-traveled lines of "adventuress meeting client" or "adulteress on her way to illicit rendezvous" as opposed to "burglary." Taking a deep breath, I went back out into the sitting-room.

"Well, then..." I began, and stopped. There really were no words.

"I hope that you find what you are looking for, Natsuki."

"Thank you for everything."

"I wouldn't—"

"No, let me finish," I rushed on, not sure where this swell of emotion was coming from but absolutely certain, all of a sudden, that I needed to say this while I had the chance. "I've only known you since August, still just short of nine months, and in that time you've become the best friend I've ever had. You opened up your work to me, shared parts of your past, made a place for me in your life. You tease me, you make me laugh, you look out for me and worry about me, you don't get offended when I do stupid things, you don't let me run roughshod over you with my temper but you back off and give me space when I need it. There's a lot of people who would look at my past—hell, at my present—and give me up as a lost cause, but you never even said a harsh word even though when you get down to it your job is to put people like me in jail." I took a deep breath and then let it out again in a heavy sigh. "I really don't think I could have made it this far without you. I know that it's maudlin, but...we both know that all kind of bad things could happen tonight, and...well...I didn't want to go on without telling you."

"Natsuki, I...I don't know what to say..." There were tears in her eyes, making the scarlet glisten.

I smiled wryly behind the veil.

"I guess there's a first time for everything. But it's okay. You don't need to say anything."

I turned to the door, wishing as I stepped through that it didn't feel so much like I was saying goodbye.

Given the way this evening's activities could play out, I didn't want to leave obvious traces, such as a cab driver who took someone from Baker Street directly to the Obsidian Prince's home, so I walked over to Oxford Street before I caught a hansom. I had him take me to Ashton's, a restaurant and cafe on the edge of the district just past Regent's Park which had become popular lately with the arty set, making it the kind of place where a woman might meet her lover. More importantly, it was only a quarter-hour's walk away from my destination, so that by eleven o'clock I was nearing the house.

The rain promised throughout the day started to fall when I was still two blocks away, and I both welcomed and rejected it. The clouds veiled the moon and stars and the rain itself further obscured sight and sound. Any watchman outdoors would be caught up in his own cold and misery, while rain rattling off the glass and flowing down the windows would isolate the house from any but the most dramatic disturbance on the grounds. On the other hand, it would make my own grip more treacherous for the nearly inevitable acrobatics, and not being able to see or hear well worked both ways. By the time I reached the house, the rain was hissing off the cobbles and splashing into several growing puddles in a hard, steady fall.

I'd carefully considered my options for getting over the wall. It was impossible for me to slip between the spikes and the gate was completely out given the presence of one, or perhaps more, guards. There were no nearby tree limbs or the like to use as a support, meaning that I'd indeed have to be acrobatic. Praying that nobody else would come along, I went around to the side of the estate. If it wasn't for the rain, I'd have considered using a strong acid on a couple of the bars, but anticipating the weather I'd discarded that plan.

I removed my cloak and hat, tossing the latter aside, then using a clasp-knife I cut several strips from the cloak. I wrapped the fabric around my hands over my gloves. The shafts of the iron bars were triangular, and while they weren't honed to blade-edges they were pretty close to it, and with what I intended I'd need the extra protection for my hands.

I took a deep breath, then another, steadying myself. I'd have to be quick and accurate, or else I risked hurting myself badly before I even got onto the grounds, but this..._This is the culmination of nearly fifteen years of your life_, I told myself.

I was ready.

Flexing my legs, I leapt, stretching my arms up with everything I had. My right hand closed around the shaft of a bar, very near the arrowlike point, while my left—maybe hampered by last night's injuries—just brushed the flat bottom. I felt the bite of the edges into my right fingers and palm even through the glove and cloth wrappings, but I didn't believe there was any actual penetration. I pulled upwards, flexing at arm and shoulder and raised myself enough so that I could get a grip on another bar with my left hand as well. I then swung up my legs and braced my feet flat against the wall, flexing my knees so that I could get as much spring as possible.

_This is crazy_, part of my brain told me, but I wasn't in a listening mood.

I took another breath, then kicked off the wall while exhaling. I kept a tight grip on the bars while flexing my body up and back, using the momentum of centrifugal force to help swing me up, out, and around the sharpened points of the barrier. My wrists and shoulders screamed in pain, the soreness down my left side howling at me, but I cleared the edge, coming around in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree flip. I was going to come down a little short, I realized in utter horror, and twisted my feet sideways to get the maximum purchase off the top of the bars so I could step up onto the brick wall itself.

Success!

For a second, exhilaration flooded me as I savored this first, small victory over the obstacles. Then reality set in as I realized how much further there was to go. I stripped the pieces of cloak off my hands and flexed my aching fingers. The cloth was actually sliced in places and the leather scored; it had been a nearer thing than I'd thought!

I peered out into the shadows as the rain continued to pummel at me. The next step was crucial. Now and again I caught sight of moving shapes in the grounds below—the mastiffs. Had they heard me performing my circus antics? Caught my scent? Maybe not, but they certainly would if I tried a mad dash across the lawn to the house.

I crouched down, swung the satchel around so it was resting on my hip, and opened it up, taking out a packet tightly wrapped in butcher's paper. I untied the string and began to toss the fresh meat inside into the yard. A really well-trained attack dog, I knew, would ignore such baits, but those were relatively rare. The barking I'd heard from the estate while walking by that afternoon was a strong clue that these mastiffs were large and dangerous but not elite animals, probably because they'd been added to the Obsidian Prince's defenses in response to his recent fears rather than as part of an established plan of protection. Still, I'd just have to wait and hope that I was right and didn't have to try a fallback plan.

Sure enough, the animals soon came snuffling around the meat. I heard the wet, gobbling sounds as they greedily consumed the chunks of beef. Several minutes ticked past before the mastiffs laid down and didn't get back up, incapacitated by the powerful sleeping drug I'd bought at the chemist's and laced the meat with. I had a couple of hours to get in and out; if my business took longer than that I'd have a lot more to worry about than dogs. I dropped from the wall into the yard and scampered across the grounds.

I didn't even bother with the doors; undoubtedly they were not only locked but bolted or barred. The windows, similarly, were fixed with bars and iron shutters. From behind a couple, gleams of light leaked from places where the fit was not precisely exact. Someone was awake in the house, most probably its master, despite the lateness of the hour, and no doubt several guards as well. I stayed well away from those windows, instead moving around to a part of the house where all was darkness and silence, then looked up into the rain and gloom. The attic windows hadn't been shuttered, I recalled from my afternoon scouting, and I didn't see any sign of it now.

I took a collapsible grapnel from my satchel, flicked it open, and turned the locking pin that held its arms in that position. The iron claws had already been muffled with cloth to prevent clanging or scraping; hopefully the sound of it hitting the roof would be lost in the drumbeat of the falling rain. I'd brought a short coil of rope as well, carrying it separately in case I needed it for something other than climbing, but I now secured it to the ring at the base of the grapnel. Rain streamed down my face as I strained my eyes looking upwards, trying to disarm substance from shadows, filling in from memory as much as sight.

_There!_

I tossed the grappling hook upwards, heard the soft thunk of it hitting the roof. It slid down and caught on the protruding cornice I'd aimed it towards. I tugged at the rope, testing that the purchase was secure, then began to climb quickly, rising up the side of the house to the attic. The window I hoped to enter was within arm's reach and had a sill; I pulled myself over and looked inside. The darkness was nearly absolute, the pitch-blackness suggesting a storeroom rather than a servants' bedroom. I tried to raise the sash, but found it locked.

An expert cat burglar would have had some kind of glass-cutting tool, but I'd never been _that_ expert despite my abilities in that area. The rain, I hoped, would cover the sound I was about to make, but if I was wrong about the room being empty then I might be finished before I'd even really started.

_No turning back now, Natsuki_, I told myself, and drew my gun. Then, using the barrel, I tapped out one of the panes, breaking the glass. I was as gentle as I could be about it, keeping the shattering sound as soft as I could, but it still seemed to roar like thunder in my ears. Since hanging around outside a window wasn't going to help me any, I reached in, turned the latch, and raised the sash so that I could slip into the room. A musty odor greeted me as I got inside; apparently I'd been right about it being a storeroom. Glass crunched under my shoe and I jerked back, barking my shin on a trunk or chest, and I had to bite my lip to suppress a yelp.

I stood there in the darkness, ears straining as I took several long, slow breaths to calm my nerves. I heard no shouts, no hammering of running feet rushing towards me, only the rattling of the rain on the sharply canted roof above me. Apparently my entrance had gone undetected. I took a moment to orient myself on Kanzaki's plan in my mind; the attics were part of the blank space he didn't know the interior layout of, but I readily was able to figure out where I was relative to the rooms that he did know.

I reached back out the window, shook the grapnel loose, and hauled it in before stuffing it, rope and all, back into the satchel. I took a case of waterproof lucifers from my pocket and struck one, verifying that I was indeed in a storage area filled with boxes and trunks. An ordinary thief, I suspected, might find a few valuables here, but I ignored everything. My business here was with people—one person—not things.

I made my way to the door before my match went out. It was locked, but an attic door was no challenge; I had it open with a skeleton key in seconds and emerged out onto a small landing. All was still and quiet but for the hammering rain from above me, echoing the beating of my heart.

Since I was about to move into "occupied enemy territory," I drew my gun again. I'd only brought the one, and there was a good reason for it. The Mauser was a new type of revolver that did not, in fact, revolve at all, instead featuring a vertical magazine that could be replaced in seconds, with the explosion of firing each shot working the action that ejected the spent shell and chambered the next round automatically, hence the name of "semi-automatic" or "self-load" pistol. Fast reloading, however, wasn't why I'd chosen this weapon for this night's work; frankly, if I found myself needing to reload at all than I was so out of luck as to be ready to pick out a headstone.

No, the reason for choosing the Mauser lay with the item I'd purchased from Yvette Helene, which I now took out. I screwed the short, perforated cylinder into place onto the automatic's barrel; it fit as snugly as it had when I'd tested it the day before. It was a silencer—a sound suppressor. As she'd explained it to me, it worked by trapping the gases released when a bullet fired, reducing their speed and expansion, as well as the speed of the bullet itself. A revolver's open cylinder allowed the exploding gases to escape freely instead of being directed through the suppressor, but the self-load's contained firing chamber allowed the device to do its work. It would impair accuracy and range, but since any shooting I planned to do would be inside the house, those weren't really factors I had to worry about.

The ability to fire without immediately rousing the entire household, though, _that_ might very well come in handy.

Slowly, cautiously I crept down the attic stairs. My eyes strained for a glimmer of light to point my way, or a flicker of deeper shadow that might indicate movement. Each creak of the house settling or soaring howl of the rising wind taunted my ears, and even my skin prickled as if alert for any draft that might indicate a door opening or closing somewhere in the house, my senses were so hyper-alert. So close, now, to finally achieving my goal, the anticipation consumed me.

I realized the danger of letting the adrenaline run away with me and I fought for calm, thinking of Shizuru and the way she could remain so utterly placid as chaos raged around her or she herself was on the cusp of solving an important case. Holding back my emotions—the negative ones, at least—had never been my strong point, but for this business I _needed_ a Shizuru-like calm. To keep my head, lest I lose it.

I remembered the lights I'd seen from some of the ground-floor windows, as well as Kanzaki's note on the plan that the Obsidian Prince liked to work from his library. Downstairs it was, then. I crept along a hallway, seeking another staircase down and finding it. Glimmers of light came from below and I advanced towards the head of the stairs, keeping to the middle of the hall so I could walk on the soft, noise-deadening runner instead of bare wood. The position left me more exposed to sight, but at this point being overheard was the more serious danger.

I used the same caution in descending the stairs, and it was good that I did because waiting for me on the ground floor was a guard. The flight descended into what looked to be the front hall of the house and there was a man waiting at the foyer door. He wasn't dressed as a servant, but had an inexpensive brown suit and was broad-shouldered, built to intimidate. Clearly he was a thug, perhaps a rank-and-file member of the Obsidian Court or more likely an Orphan, there to guard the leader.

Options crashed through my mind in seconds. Go back upstairs to find another way down? Maybe, but if he turned while I did that I'd have my back to him, defenseless, and it would be hard to noiselessly _back_ up the stairs. Wait him out? No; he was probably posted there, at the house's main entrance, rather than patrolling. Shoot him in the back? Maybe—but could I guarantee an instant kill? And Miss Helene's sound suppressor was just that; the shot _would_ still make noise. It was doubtful that I could keep an alarm from being raised that way—and besides, even among this bunch of murdering bastards, my stomach twisted at the idea of killing anyone except possibly the Obsidian Prince himself in cold blood.

I seemed to see Shizuru's face in my mind's eye, looking sorrowfully at me as if telling me that this was not the way.

_Stay out of my head, Shizuru!_ I screamed mentally, but even as I did I was slipping my left hand into a pocket to take out a sap. I continued on creeping downstairs, praying that the guard wouldn't turn around, gun still in my right hand if needed—but luck was with me. I whipped the blackjack in a short arc into the back of his skull and he went down at once. I barely caught the falling body in time to keep it from crashing into a fragile occasional table with an even more fragile vase of flowers, then tied the man with his own braces and gagged him with his handkerchief to keep him from raising an alarm if he came to before I was finished with my work. There was no real place to hide him, but I dragged him off to the side of the staircase where he'd at least be out of the direct line of sight of casual passerby.

That done, I again oriented myself according to Kanzaki's plan. I'd done a good job committing it to memory, and thus far it had been accurate. The quickest way to the library would, I believed, be through the morning room off to my right, then out into a back hall and to the library's side door. The longer way would take me through the main hall and two other rooms, making it likely that I'd stumble across someone on the way. Too, if I had rooms matched up properly from when I'd been outside, the morning room was one of the dark rooms, which meant no one there to encounter.

Gun held ready, I opened the door.

The room was as black as pitch, darker than the upstairs hall, as dark as the attic storeroom. The east-facing windows, which would have ordinarily let in good light while the room was being out to its intended use, did nothing to help the situation what with the rain outside.

Not wanting to crash into something that might cause a noisy accident or even end up injuring me, I lit another match, shielding it from the windows with my body, and swiftly crossed the silent room to the opposite door, which was again right where Kanzaki had said it would be. Either the Chief Inspector had been sincere for once in his life or else this was all some vastly over-elaborate trap. I was fairly certain it was the former; it would have been idiotic to save me, then lead me on, and I was not dealing with idiots.

The lack of idiocy was proven again when I opened the door into the back hall and found myself staring directly at another guard with a short reddish-brown beard. Our eyes widened together in mutual shock, his right hand dropped to his waistband and a protruding revolver butt, and his mouth opened to shout a warning that I _could not_ allow to be made.

Instantly, reflexively, without conscious thought, I pulled the trigger. The Mauser fired. There _was_ sound; the silencing was hardly absolute. It might have been a slamming door or a heavy book dropped onto the floor, but it was a dull sound rather than a piercing one, more easily absorbed by the walls between rooms, and most emphatically did _not_ sound like a gun had been fired.

As for aim and stopping-power, I had nothing to complain of. The bullet took the bearded man dead center, puncturing the heart. His body jerked as the alarm died borning on his lips. Nerveless fingers slipped from his gun as he collapsed to the floor, the weapon still undrawn.

I had just shot a man dead.

My brain, my intellect, knew that had I been any slower the man would have pulled out his gun and been trying to kill me. Likewise, I knew that his shouted alarm might have ruined everything, calling down a house full of the Obsidian Prince's thugs fully intent on killing or capturing me and also warning his master to retreat out of my reach. Though the law would call this murder if they learned of it, it had not been done in cold blood, but instead in defense of my life (which, again, the law would say I had no right to defend while trespassing in someone's home in the full intent of committing a felony).

These were things I knew.

My emotions, though, were in control. _They _could only leave me staring in shock at the motionless body of the man I'd killed. He was an Orphan, a soldier of the Obsidian Prince, but he was also a man, a human being whose name I didn't even know. I'd killed him out of hand, not even given him a chance to surrender. I'd acted purely on instinct to protect myself and, even more so, my mission of vengeance.

Was it justified? _Could_ it be? I thought of Porlock, of Mlle. Helene, and above all of Shizuru. What would they say? Perhaps the Obsidian Prince deserved death for what he'd done to me and to others, but what about this minion? All I knew about him was that he had a bad employer.

I was trembling now, shaking so much that it was a good thing I'd taken my finger off the Mauser's trigger the instant I'd realized there wouldn't need to be a second shot, or else I would have fired again by accident. The plain truth was, I'd only killed once in my life before now, and that had been when I was fourteen and the boss of a robbery gang had made it known he didn't like the people I was with working a job on his patch. That had been plain self-defense; I'd been so terrified of the brutal beating he'd just begun to hand out, with worse probably to follow, that the horror of taking a human life had been entirely swallowed up by the shock and fear over my narrow escape. Ironically, this had also cemented my reputation with the shady customers I dealt with as someone who would take swift, decisive, and ruthless action.

_Then again, were they wrong?_ I thought bitterly, looking at the corpse sprawled before me. Swift, decisive, and ruthless summed _that_ action up rather well.

"Damn it," I cursed softly, not even a whisper. _Get a hold of yourself, Natsuki! You've come too far now to turn squeamish._ I didn't ever want to become like that woman Tomoe, where killing became easy, or worse yet to find pleasure in it, but in a battle against a murderous secret society I had to accept that it would be necessary. All I had to do was to remember the corpse of Bill Wilton, or the heat of the fire in Baker Street, or the feeling of the knife-slash I'd gotten in Whitechapel—or the face of Saeko Kuga as she tumbled over the rail of the _Friesland—_to know what _they_ were capable of. Nor could the man I'd shot in any way be considered an innocent victim; he was an armed soldier of the enemy. The Obsidian Prince certainly wouldn't have him guarding his door if he didn't think the man was willing to shoot intruders dead on sight.

The shaking was slowing up now as I mastered my reactions. Probably, it was finding that my mother had belonged to the Obsidian Court that had prompted this. That knowledge had driven my righteous crusade into the area of moral ambiguity. Uncertainty had given rise to doubt, and blinded me to the reality of what I was doing. That reality was, the focus of everything I had done over the past fourteen years was right down the hall for me, and that all I had to do was to take a few steps to cue the finale.

I wasn't going to shirk now, at the very end.

I advanced down the hall, which was lit by gas-jets in frosted glass bells, stepped over the fallen body of the dead man, and came to the door I wanted. Slowly, so as not to make any sound, I turned the knob and pulled.

Nothing.

The door was locked.

I glanced down under the knob. There was no keyhole in the usual sense; he'd gone so far as to install a Yale lock on his library door! _As if anyone who got this far would be stopped by _that_,_I thought scornfully.

Still, a good Yale wasn't like the attic storeroom lock, to be finessed with a skeleton key. I knelt on the carpet, now really hoping that the suppressed gunshot had not attracted any attention. I set the gun down on the floor next to me, got out my lockpicks, and went to work. It was slow going, because I not only had to defeat the mechanism but also work carefully, to make sure I didn't make a sound to alert the man I assumed was within—_and_ I had to keep alert for any sign of another guard, a servant, anything that might require action.

Despite all that, a quarter of an hour later I eased the last tumbler into place, applied pressure, and had the pleasure of hearing the soft click of the lock sliding back. Knowing that even over the rain the noise might have been heard, I stuffed the lockpicks into my pocket, snatched up the Mauser, and got to my feet even as I was thrusting the door open.

~X X X~

_A/N: The "new type of revolver" line is in fact, period-accurate; it took some time before automatics were necessarily separated from revolvers in common usage (linguistically speaking) and the word "revolver" could refer to any type of pistol. The Mauser she uses in, in fact, the 1896 "Broomhandle" model._


	20. Chapter 20

He was there.

The library was a large, low-ceilinged room with a number of free-standing bookcases overflowing with crumbling, leather-bound volumes just as the wall shelves were. My eyes flicked left and right as I advanced, making sure that no one was about to leap out in ambush. But this was a reflex, built into me through my experiences. I was barely aware of taking in my surroundings, the way the bookcases obscured the light from the gas-lamps so that weird shadows speared into the room at odd angles. I could only think consciously of one thing.

_He was there_.

"Don't move," I ordered. "This is a silenced pistol. If I so much as think you're going to reach for a bell-pull or alarm switch, or to yell for help, I'll shoot you down where you stand—_your Highness_."

"Natsuki Kuga!" he all but yelped.

"Good; we know who we are and don't have to bother with introductions."

Did I know his face, I wondered, this man with iron-gray hair and lighter-hued sideburns? Had I ever seen newspaper photographs of his sharp nose and cheekbones and strong chin? With his purple velvet smoking-jacket and long-stemmed briar pipe, he presented an image of respectability and confidence, the look of a man whom one could trust to guide the ship of finance on a true course, a man in whom the masses could place their hope for the country. Or at least he would have, had he not been trembling, stark terror in his eyes. Most people were not at their best when an intruder confronts them in their home at gunpoint, but this was more, not just fear and surprise but a creeping horror. From what Kanzaki had said, I had assumed the aura of some kind of bogeyman as I'd escaped trap after trap while his Elders fell dead one by one.

He'd sent out his assassins. He'd hidden away behind barred windows and locked doors, protected by vicious dogs and armed men, and yet here I was, staring down at him over the barrel of a gun as I marched across the room towards the table where he sat with his papers.

No wonder he was terrified. Hell, I'd be terrified, too, in his place.

The Obsidian Prince's lips quivered. I'd meant what I said; if I had to I would shoot him to save myself. It wasn't the ending I wanted, but a Poe quotation Shizuru and I had discussed after the Warburton matter was uppermost in my mind. The successful revenge demanded two things: that the victim of the revenge know why his doom was being visited upon him, and that the avenger be able to escape punishment for the vengeful act. The Obsidian Prince already knew exactly why I would want to kill him. The problem actually was that _I_ didn't fully know! But I wasn't going to abandon my own safety to get those answers. There was still his vault, after all, with the society's records, which might also provide the truth.

At least, that was what I told myself. Yet, when I got to within eight feet of him, that resolve was immediately found lacking. In a sudden, almost convulsive movement he thrust his right hand into the pocket of his smoking-jacket, and I did _not_ shoot. Instead, I sprang at him, covering the distance between us in an instant, swinging around the table to his left, and as he turned towards me while pulling a snub-nosed .38 from his pocket, I hammered the butt of my Mauser into his wrist. Bone snapped audibly, he cried out, and the revolver dropped harmlessly to the carpet. I whipped my arm out in a furious backhand, raking the suppressor up across his cheek and actually toppling him out of his chair.

"You bloody ass! Don't even _think_ about trying something like that again!" I snapped—roared?—at him. I hoped that there wasn't anyone outside the other door, or at least that it was thick enough that the commotion wasn't going to be heard.

The Obsidian Prince tried to scramble away, but I wrenched him back to his feet by the collar and heaved him into his chair. I scooped up his revolver and shoved it into one of my pockets, but as I did he tried to get up and bolt again. I blocked his path with my hip, there was a short scuffle, and a young, vigorous woman won out over an aging gentleman. He didn't make it out of his chair, and I slammed his face down onto the table, my empty left hand on the back of his head, while I screwed the barrel of the suppressed Mauser into his ear. Blood from his torn cheek dripped onto some of the papers he'd been working on.

"Go ahead," he sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. "You've got what you came for. At least have the decency to make it quick."

"Quick like my mother, you mean? Dragged down in the freezing waters of the North Sea? Quick, like the nearly fifteen years it's taken me to get here to this place? If I were a different kind of person, your Highness, I could spend _days_ settling things with you. As God is my witness, I don't know whether to be thankful or sorry that I'm not."

I was literally trembling with fury and triumph, mingled into a fever pitch of excitement. My voice, though, was clear and sharp, each word precise and impossible to misunderstand.

"Now, your Highness, we're going to have a talk. You are going to answer all of my questions, fully and completely."

"Why should I?" he choked out. "You're just going to kill me anyway. Denying you the satisfaction is the only revenge against you I have left."

For an instant I saw red, but I mastered myself, kept my voice under control.

"You should, because you want to spare _me_ the trouble of persuading you to talk." I twisted the gun slightly, grinding the barrel against his ear just enough to make my meaning clear. I thought the threat would be enough. I might be wrong—some people, even ones without previous experience in combat or personal danger, find a depth of character when faced with risk or suffering, finding courage and willpower within themselves that even they didn't know that they possessed.

But I wasn't wrong.

"Aaah!" he gasped. "A-all right, I see your point. What do you want to know?"

"Just one thing: why did you have your minions murder Saeko Kuga? _Why did you kill my mother?_"

He made a strange little sound. At first I didn't understand it. Then it was repeated, again and again, and I realized that the Obsidian Prince was laughing, a pained chuckle heavy with bitterness.

"You think murder is _funny_?" I growled, pushing down harder, grinding his face against the table.

"Oh, this is priceless. You've butchered your way through a century-old organization, are one bullet away from destroying one of England's political and financial powers, and you don't even know why you're doing it."

There was a sickly smile on his face, the look of a man who found himself the butt of a joke yet still appreciated the levity despite it all. And maybe he had a point. There was a black humor in it from his point of view, being hunted down for revenge by someone who didn't even know what she was revenging.

_No_.

That wasn't true. I knew what it was I was avenging. I was avenging the death of a loving, caring woman. A woman who, no matter what she had been to other people, a courtesan-adventuress, a Second District conspirator, whatever, had always been a kind and loving mother.

It was strange, really. Hearing my own doubts coming from the lips of this man had been exactly what I'd needed to realize the truth: that whatever my mother was _in the abstract_ didn't count, only what she'd been _to me_. In the end, that was what determined where _I_ stood.

"Oh, I know exactly why I'm doing this. I'm doing this because you made me an orphan. Because you took away the one person in my life who ever loved me. The rest of it is just my curiosity. The desire to know what drives filth like you.

"So tell me, your Highness. What exactly was so important that it was worth destroying my life over?"

The Obsidian Prince found it in himself to laugh again, despite his fear. Or maybe that was it. In his mind, the certainty that death was upon him had moved him past fear so that he could say what he wanted without holding back. He'd found that depth of character after all.

I was somehow not impressed by his personal growth, particularly given what he used that newfound courage to say, "You stupid, pathetic bitch. You've done all this for the sake of a whore, and one who turned traitor besides!"

I wanted to snap his neck, beat his head against the oak table until his skull cracked, _something_. But I didn't.

"I know she was a member of the Obsidian Court," I said, "so if she was a whore, I guess that makes you just a pimp. Even in the East End, that would still make you lower than dirt."

"She betrayed us!" he spat. "She abandoned her mission, then went one beyond that and tried to blackmail us. We'd given her everything, and she turned on us!"

"Was she selling you out to my father?"

"Your father?" He laughed again. "You must be joking. That man has no idea we even exist, even though we've been at war with him for over twenty years over a half-dozen major industrial concerns in Germany. Time and again he's blocked our attempts to gain a foothold merely by ruthlessly pursuing his own interests."

"That's it, then," I said slowly. "That's what was happening. Mother...she wasn't an adventuress or a prostitute; she was a _spy. Your_ spy."

"One who turned on us, after everything that we'd done for her, made her what she was. She _was_ a prostitute, a trade natural for a girl with no prospects, no family, no training, but great beauty and wit. She was intelligent enough to avoid the bane—drink—of most in her trade, and as such became a sought-after property for a series of protectors, 'trading up' each time, until at last she came within our purview. One of our First District members who oversaw certain holdings of that sort which we control, recognized her potential. She was trained and educated: manners, speech, deportment, but also literature, music, art—and business and politics."

"Those last because a spy has to be able to recognize valuable information when she sees it, I presume?"

"Of course. What's the point in planting a member of your group close to an enemy if they have no ability to _act_?" he sneered. "We tested her on small, simple tasks here in England, and when she passed the tests, we moved her on to her major assignment."

"Gerhart Kruger." I had no trouble following the logic.

"Precisely. She was perfect for the task."

"Why?"

"Kruger has a taste for Asian women," he replied flatly. "Their population in Germany is very slim, and even more so twenty years ago; the nation's lack of warm-water ports takes them out of major sea trade and reduces the size of the immigrant population by proportion with England and France. To her physical appearance, Saeko Kuga added wit, charm, and intellect. She was, quite simply, the perfect bait. She studied him, then made her own plan of attack, allowing herself to be seen in Munich as the mistress of one of our Third District members there, during which time she arranged to meet Kruger socially,"

"Let me guess: then the man apparently severed the relationship with her, leaving her free to be taken up by a new protector."

"Gerhart Kruger stepped up to fulfill that role almost immediately. And for nearly seven years, things went perfectly. Her ability to locate valuable information, to extract details from him during 'pillow talk,' and also to recognize when she was being tested or when plans, figures, and documents had been falsified, benefitted the First District by tens of thousands of pounds each year. Even the news that she was having a child did not slow matters down. On the contrary, it provided a closer personal tie so that ultimately it was hard to tell which was Kruger's true household, that of his wife or of his mistress."

I wasn't sure what I thought about these revelations, what they meant to me. I'd always known that Mother had been Father's mistress, a glorified prostitute, and I didn't know whether I found the notion that her particular brand of adventuress had been "spy" rather than "courtesan" reassuring or disturbing. None of that mattered, though, so I shoved the whole question from my mind. I could think about it later, when I had time and all the details.

"If she was so effective as a spy, then why murder her?"

"Because she betrayed us!" he hissed angrily. "We gave her everything; she'd have wasted her life in some Limehouse brothel without us, and she betrayed us!"

"To Kruger? She decided she wanted to become his mistress in truth rather than working against him?"

"Saeko Kuga take the side of that pompous, stiff-backed Prussian?" he mocked. "Oh, that would have been entertaining from the sheer absurdity, would it not?"

"Then who?" I snapped back, applying a little extra pressure with the hand that gripped the Obsidian Prince's skull as a reminder to mind his manners. His remark, meanwhile, had put me in mind of Shizuru's comment that the Obsidian Court might be opposed by another group or secret society.

"No one," he said. "She wanted to walk away from it all, to abandon her work."

I blinked. That didn't even make sense.

"You murdered her for _that_? Because she wanted to give up on being a spy?"

"_She owed us,_" hissed the Obsidian Prince. "She had sworn oaths of loyalty to the Obsidian Court, and she intended to just walk away, not even ten years later, with the benefit of all we taught her and the money and jewels she had received from Kruger while doing our work? Many of our members have children; what made her think she was special?"

"'Many of our members have'..." I began, but he rushed on.

"And then when refused, she tried to blackmail us, by threatening to turn over all the intelligence she had about us to Kruger and the German government! Well, an insurance policy of that sort is only effective if properly hidden; we stole the copy left with her solicitor and then took the original material from her when her punishment was delivered."

That explained the mystery of Mother's bag and why it had been stolen, but I barely noticed that. I was too caught up in the previous point, the offhand remark that had told me everything, the thing that told me that my life had _not_ been wasted on a worthless quest, that my vendetta _had_ been justified by more than simple revenge, that it was _not_ merely a case of one villain murdering another. The thing that told me I had been right to believe in Mother all these years.

"Children," I said. "She wanted to quit her life with you because of _me_. She didn't want to raise a child while living as a courtesan and an industrial spy. And you killed her for it!"

Common sense was gone in that instant of realization, pure fury destroying any sense of time and place. I'd _screamed_ that last line, loudly enough that anyone could have heard me from three rooms away regardless of thick walls and closed doors. The guards on the far side should have been pounding on the door, shouting to see what was wrong, but I took no conscious notice of their silence.

I yanked the Obsidian Prince back up off the table and slammed him into his carved wooden chair, making him grunt with the impact. I shoved the gun into a pocket since it wouldn't fit in its holster with the suppressor attached, then pounced. Shooting this monster would have been too _quick_, too easy, too _remote_. He had to feel what I felt, the imprint of my rage on his body. In the next instant my hands were around his throat, squeezing, grinding. He kicked and flailed ineffectually, unable to break my grip; I was younger, stronger, and driven by passion.

"Natsuki, stop it!"

The voice cut through the red haze like a stage actor's sword slicing down a prop curtain. I didn't think anything else would have had that power, not even if one of the Obsidian Prince's thugs had attacked me. I swiveled my head towards the voice, and what I saw stunned me so much that my grip slackened, and I hurled the architect of all my suffering to the polished parquet floor.

"Sh-Shizuru?"

She stepped from one of those crazy-quilt shadows where, perhaps, she'd been hiding all along—or else she'd slipped into the library on silent feet after I'd entered.

"What are you doing here?" I babbled. "What _happened_ to you?" The latter exclamation was because the _state_ of her appearance was almost as astonishing as the mere fact of it. Her hair was loose, tumbling down around her shoulders in a tousled, tangled mess. Her deep purple kimono was torn and askew, yanked all the way off her right shoulder and splotched in more than one place with dark stains. There was a cut at the corner of her mouth as if her lip had been split by a blow and streaks of soot on her face. I had never, ever seen her in such a state—I'd once watched her come out of an underworld pit fight in much better condition than this!

"I'm glad that I got here in time," she said, her lips curving into a genuine smile, mingling relief and happiness that were totally at odds with the rest of her appearance.

"In time? In time for what?"

"To stop Natsuki from committing murder," she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She smiled brightly as she walked towards me. "Natsuki has killed in combat before, I think, but that is not the same as choosing to kill someone who poses no immediate physical danger. I did not wish Natsuki to have to bear that burden, to know that she chose to take a life. From emotion or expedience, in hot blood or cold, it is all the same. I could not bear the thought of Natsuki waking in the night, regretting what she had done."

Shizuru was actually making sense, it a strange kind of way. After all, _she_ didn't care about my mother's fate or crave vengeance for it; her concern was for _me_. Heaven knew she'd seen the cost of revenge, of murder, on a person time and again in her work. And yet, I couldn't shake the impression that something was off. Maybe it was the smile. It wasn't right that she should look so happy in the middle of all this. Or maybe it was all the "Natsukis" instead of second-person pronouns. Whether it was, there was a dissonant quality that unnerved me.

"He has to pay for what he did," I shot back. "The man is a monster. How many deaths has he ordered through the Obsidian Court? How many millions of pounds stolen through his schemes? He deserves to be hung a dozen times over!"

Shizuru nodded.

"Natsuki is correct in that."

She turned to the Obsidian Prince, who was gasping and choking for breath, still.

"This monstrous conspiracy must be destroyed, or else Natsuki will never be safe from them. But it is almost achieved. The three Elders of the First District are all dead. The vital records of the society's membership, holdings, and operations that would enable new persons to take over and resume activities in their place are now destroyed."

"They are?"

Shizuru nodded.

"I set fire to the vault. Of course, many documents were in fireproof cabinets, but these are quite ineffective when they have been opened before the fire is set. The Obsidian Court is in ashes, now. Only, as Natsuki has observed, does its master remain to deal with."

From the capacious sleeve of her kimono, she produced an ivory-hilted stiletto. The crimson of fresh blood marred the polished steel, and I added that to Shizuru's general appearance and came up with a conclusion as to just why the noise, the commotion, had not attracted any attention.

_She doesn't...This isn't..._

Shizuru half-turned towards the prone man and, with a flick of her hand set the blade across the eight or so feet separating them, to bury itself in the Obsidian Prince's chest. He gave a sickly, gurgling sound, then slumped limply. Her aim had been very good.

_This can't be happening! She didn't just...she didn't..._

"Shizuru, what have you _done_?" I cried, even as she walked over to the body. She looked back at me, a look of puzzlement on her features. It was exactly the same expression she got as when she'd made some deduction that I didn't follow and she was genuinely surprised that I hadn't seen what she had. That innocent confusion she was showing somehow made it all the worse.

"I killed the Obsidian Prince," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, I supposed, maybe it was. "Now he has not escaped punishment for murdering Natsuki's mother, Natsuki has not had to taint herself by performing the act, and now Natsuki will no longer have to live her life in fear of the next attempt to kill her. Everything has been safely concluded."

She positively _beamed_ at me, even as she was withdrawing the dagger from the dead man's chest and tucking it away in her sleeve. I shuddered, stumbling away from her. I didn't understand any of this—any of it! This wasn't the Shizuru I knew, the woman I'd come to know and care for. It was as if someone else was standing there in her place, some demon or a fox-spirit out of one of Mai's summer ghost stories possessing her.

But I knew that wasn't true. There were no such easy answers in this world. It had been Shizuru and Shizuru alone who had sent that slim Italian dagger through the air in a perfect killing stroke. She'd told me once that she was trained with knives; I'd nearly forgotten it because that wasn't a skill I'd even seen her use until now.

Knives...

In my mind's eye I saw another knife tumbling through the air, striking home with murderous intent, and our role reversal completed itself as I made a deduction.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I forced out. "You killed them—Maupertuis and Merridew both!"


	21. Chapter 21

"You killed them," I repeated numbly. "Not just the Obsidian Prince, but the other Elders, too! Shizuru, how could you do that! After all you just said about not wanting me to burden my soul with murder, how could you do it yourself?"

"But I had to," she said as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "I had to do it to protect Natsuki."

"To...protect me?" I only seemed able to repeat her words; thought was beyond me.

"I had hoped to be able to work with Natsuki, to help her solve her problem by working together, but Natsuki did not ask for my help—and then after the Crosby case, the Obsidian Court started making attempts to kill Natsuki! I knew that Natsuki could protect herself in the short term, but did not know how long it would take her to solve the problem itself, so I knew that the only solution would be to cut off the head of the snake."

I continued to stare at her in shock, but this one galvanized rather than froze me.

"You...you knew all about the Obsidian Court and that I was involved with it? For how long?"

"I—"

"_How long?_" I shouted.

She shuddered, and the too-bright smile vanished. Even the light in her eyes seemed to go out, some trick of the shadows as she moved making their unnatural crimson brilliance fade to a dull rust, like dried blood. When she spoke, her voice was halting, hesitant.

"Ever...ever since we went to Dartmoor."

"Dartmoor? You mean the Warburton case?" I exclaimed. "You mean—you _did_ come along to snoop on me after all just like I thought! And you made me feel guilty over thinking it!"

"But I didn't!" she protested. "The Warburton matter was a legitimate case." She hung her head, then added, "But...I chose to take that case rather than two offers for work in London because you were going to Dartmoor for your own reasons."

_You_ and _your_, I thought, not the constant stream of third-person references she'd been using. That, at least, was a relief.

"I was fascinated," she went on. "You were such an interesting and unusual person. You obviously possess intelligence and education, and you speak with a cultured voice. Yet you affect masculine dress, you have extensive contacts in the underworld, and know many disreputable albeit useful skills that no lady who speaks as you do would ordinarily possess. Moreover, from what I could tell you did not engage in criminal activities yourself—at least, not in the present. I could not help but be caught up in this enthralling mystery. So I...observed, and drew conclusions."

"You knew about me, and the Obsidian Court?" I said incredulously.

"Not then, of course, not until we went to Odessa and you were so fascinated by John Smith's cuff links. From that point it was elementary to trace the identity of that symbol. I'd learned whom you'd visited on Dartmoor already, and while I did not know what you spoke to Michael West concerning, I learned easily enough that he had once been a seaman and had suddenly given up his past as purser on the _Friesland_ without warning. On the voyage before his retirement, one Saeko Kuga had fallen overboard to her death. Thus I had a working hypothesis—that the Obsidian Court was responsible in some way for your mother's death."

"And you never said anything?"

"How could I? Had you asked, I would have been elated to help you unearth whatever information I could, but you said nothing to me about any of it, not your feelings, not the facts, and not your ultimate purpose. At that point, it was a matter of satisfying my own curiosity about you, nothing more. I would not just intrude upon your life without your consent."

"Just snoop and spy behind my back? Is that what you call 'not intruding'? For God's sake, Shizuru, I _trusted_ you, like I've never trusted anyone, and this is how you repay me?" I think some part of me knew even then that I wasn't being entirely fair to her, at least as far as it concerned things I'd actually done in front of her myself—she could hardly turn off her intellect and ignore my actions any more than I could expect a dog not to bark or a bird not to fly. But after all that had happened in the past three days, I wasn't in any state of mind to carefully parse her fairness or the lack of it on an act-by-act basis.

"Natsuki, I—"

I shook my head sharply, and cut her off.

"Never mind trying to explain. Just tell me what changed, because _that_"—I pointed to the dead man—"is most definitely intruding upon my life!"

"They were trying to kill you! They were really, seriously trying to kill you, Natsuki! It was only blind luck that Duncan Crosby didn't murder you, only the intervention of a madwoman, a murderess who was intent on sacrificing everything for her daughter's sake. It was Nao's mother who saved your life, even if she only did it for Nao's sake...but from that point I knew that the Obsidian Court would be trying to _kill_ my Natsuki, that you'd become enough of a threat to have to be silenced."

"So...what? You decided to start killing people?" I said incredulously. I knew that I had to seem like a babbling idiot, but I just couldn't wrap my head around it, the idea that Shizuru had killed people, destroyed the Obsidian Court's upper echelons. Even though I'd actually just _seen_ her cut down the Obsidian Prince right in front of me I still couldn't process the information, couldn't accept it. This was _Shizuru_. She _caught_ murderers, not _was_ one.

Right?

"I had hoped to take the First District to court. There were threads, financial scandals and other crimes, which if unraveled would have broken the organization. But there was no time; it could take weeks or months to gather the necessary evidence, and by then you might be dead. I _had_ to bring things to a head quickly...and you," she added, staring at me with those empty eyes, "would not turn to me so we could not work together."

"I didn't want you involved!" I screamed back at her. "I told you again and again! I didn't want you to be at risk from the Obsidian Court! I didn't want you to have to decide between our friendship and your beliefs that drove you to become a detective. I didn't want to throw my personal problems at you all at once and make you have to cope with them all. _I didn't want you involved!_" I almost wept.

She smiled at me, the ghost of her usual grin, but her eyes did not change and that stole all the humor, even the bitterly ironic kind, from the expression.

"But Natsuki, if it concerned you, then I could not help but be involved."

"_Why_?"

"Why did Julia throw everything away to protect Nao?" she answered one question for another, and the choice made me want to scream.

"_No more_!" I cried. "_No. More. Games. Shizuru!_ Why couldn't you just stand back and leave it alone? Why did you have to make yourself into...into this?" I waved a hand, encompassing the bloodied, tattered shell of her usual self that she had become.

"Does Natsuki even now not understand?" she whispered. "Or is it that Natsuki _will_ not understand? Very well," Shizuru said, straightening slightly, even squaring her shoulders, "I shall say it plainly: I love you, Natsuki."

"I—" I stammered, but I had no chance to reply; the floodgates had been opened and there was nothing I could do but to endure the torrent of truths as they rushed out of her, battering, hammering at me, threatening to carry me away in their sheer force.

"I love you, Natsuki. I am in love with you. I was attracted to you from the moment that we met, with the feminine beauty you hide under those masculine clothes of yours and the way they served only to emphasize your womanhood instead of hide it. Later, I came to know you for who you are, your strength of character, the kind and gentle side you try so hard to conceal, your dedication, your loyalty to those whom you care for, and mere attraction and interest turned fully to love. I ached to hold you, to touch you. It burned inside me like a flame...and yet I kept that fire banked as best I could. The time we spent together as friends and companions, the way you came to feel for me, if not how I wanted it was nonetheless more precious than I could have dreamed. I...I couldn't always resist; I was never so controlled as I think you may have believed. I flirted with you now and again, though I do not believe you noticed." Her smile grew wan. "Perhaps you could not imagine such advances coming from a woman. We train ourselves not to see things like that, to believe that they aren't possible even when we know that they can be."

Of course she was right.

Had I ever seen it?

Ever _imagined_ that her feelings were more than friendship?

I was aware of lesbianism; I wasn't a complete naif. Whether it was girls at the seminary whose friendship went beyond "friendly" or ladies in the East End whose business catered to their own sex or Bohemians in Soho who more-or-less openly pursued such a lifestyle, I had seen other women whose natures ran in that direction.

But Shizuru?

Had I ever seen her casual remarks as testing the borders of my awareness?

Seen that her eyes on me held the gaze of desire as well as affection?

Felt that her touch was the caress of a lover?

"You said that I had a powerful reason of my own that was driving me to pursue this case, and this was it. Feeling as I do, how could I abandon Natsuki in the face of such danger? I wanted so much for you to come to me, to ask for my help..."

"...But I didn't."

"You didn't! You were facing death, and yet you insisted on being worried about _me_! So I did the only thing I could do. I did not know the identity of the Obsidian Prince, so I strove to inflict as much critical damage on the society as I could while at the same time stirring up chaos that might expose further vulnerabilities."

She had slid right into the narrative of the case, like one of her usual summations as she revealed her deductions and exposed the perpetrators. Only this time it was her own crimes she was explaining, crimes she was committing for _my_ sake.

"I began with Mrs. Abernetty. She had the fewest ties to public life or business and could most easily go to ground. Perhaps I was stereotyping myself with the use of poison; it is so often associated with Italians and women both, but I hoped to conceal that a crime had been committed at all, so that I would have a free hand. I believe it worked; had an astute investigator noticed the depth to which the parsley had sunk into the butter when the doctor was first called, then attention might have been drawn to a housemaid who should not have been there, and doubt cast on the apparent suicide."

"_Parsley—_?"

"No crime is perfect, Natsuki. Everything we do leaves traces."

I continued to stare at her. My senses seemed hyper-acute from the stress of everything: the disarray of her hair and kimono, the reddening of her face, the bloodstains, the way her sleeves hung to reveal that they were weighted by more than just her stiletto, even the curls of smoke from the fire that tickled my nose seemed to be made plain to my sight.

"When you came back from your encounter in Whitechapel, when you were injured," she continued, "I knew that I could not stop. I resolved to deal with Baron Maupertuis; he was more arrogant and, by virtue of his public and social persona, more exposed than Mr. Merridew. I considered putting a sleeping draught in your tea, but I could not bring myself to do that to you, and so had to trust that you would not wake while I was out. There was no point in attempting to conceal that the killing _was_ a killing; two Elders dead so close together would produce such an assumption regardless. I attended to the matter and was home well before you awoke."

No wonder she'd started to eat a hearty breakfast. She'd had a busy night behind her.

"Of course, by a supreme irony, I was the very next morning engaged to investigate that selfsame crime. It was pure coincidence that initially terrified me, but I knew that I had to take the case when Miss Gartner said that her mistress stood accused of the crime." Nervously, in a gesture unnatural to her, she bit at her knuckle. "Although I had acted to protect Natsuki, I could not let a third party, purely an innocent person, be punished in my place."

"So you accepted the case and went to investigate a crime you yourself had committed." The idea of it made me feel faintly sick, how she had stood there in that study over the body of her victim and coolly 'deduced' the facts about his death. The kind of control it would take to do that, I'd almost have to call it inhuman. Not just to conceal her own involvement by not reacting and not knowing too much, but to banter with Kanzaki, to tease me while we stood over the corpse...In the past, I'd always admired Shizuru's ability to set aside the horror and the human tragedy of her cases so as to do her job professionally, but this went beyond that. This was...monstrous.

"I was able, at least, to free the Baroness's name from suspicion, so that my presence was not wasted."

"And then, that night, when I was at Mai's meeting Porlock, you killed Merridew."

"That was a more difficult matter to arrange. He was frightened and on his guard, and unlikely to allow me access."

"You managed it, though."

"By taking Natsuki's name in vain. I told you that I'd sent him a letter by the evening post and that was the case, but the letter we found was not the one I'd sent. Rather, I wrote to him in the guise of a concerned person, who by virtue of sharing rooms with you came across certain evidence implicating _you_ in the murders of Mrs. Abernetty and Baron Maupertuis, and imploring him to meet secretly with me so that he and I could talk without you learning of it. Of course, I was fully familiar with his household routine, and so knew that Mr. Hartwell would be out on his half-day when the evening post arrived, insuring that only Mr. Merridew would read my letter."

In its way, it was brilliant. I knew from Kanzaki that Merridew suspected Shizuru was my ally, but her direct approach forced him to confront that fear—and Kanzaki had already reported to the Elders that Shizuru was _not_ my accomplice, so in that sense her letter merely reinforced the Herald's information. He'd be forced to recast the players in his head, frightened and unnerved by the shadow of two killings, _and_ have a hand of rescue extended to him, all at once.

No doubt Shizuru was as charming and persuasive in her letter as she was in real life. Merridew had opened the gate to her like a lamb inviting in the wolf.

"When it was done," she said, "I replaced the actual letter with the one we, and the police, later found. I burned the real letter to ash, searched his files for any clue to the Obsidian Prince's identity—unfortunately finding nothing, just as I had in Baron Maupertuis's study—and made certain that he had not entered my name in his appointment calendar or something equally incriminating. And then...and then it all began to fall apart! You arrived home in a shocking state—and Reito tried to arrest you!—and I had no clue to the identity of the Obsidian Prince!"

"And then," I said sourly, "then I learned the truth and left Kanzaki's plan with the man's name and address on it sitting in my pocket out in the sitting-room while I went to take a damned _nap_."

She beamed at me, a smile that no one should show when discussing murder, a smile that was almost joyful.

"I was so happy, then! First Natsuki had chosen to trust me, and then, then I had the last piece..."

Shizuru stopped then and shook her head, taking a long, ragged breath. When she looked up at me, there was a kind of color in her gaze again, of the old brightness I knew so well.

"I didn't think you would need my help, not really. I knew you'd be more than capable of dealing with the Obsidian Prince's defenses, especially now that you've come so far, but...I didn't want you to have to kill him in cold blood. I knew he had to die, in order for you to be safe and to get your revenge at last, but I didn't want you to have to pay that cost. You like to present yourself as cold and uncaring, but you're not that way at all, you know. Natsuki is a warm and kind girl who has hidden away that side of herself for so long that she does not believe it is there, but I know at heart she is a good person. You proved it again this morning when you let those arsonists go free despite what they had tried to do to us. If you were anywhere near as cold as you think you are, you'd have slit their throats last night after they told you where to meet Reito. You're proving it right now, with the horror in your eyes as you look at me." She smiled sadly as she said that, and then the smile softened. "I'm glad that, at least, you won't have to look at yourself that way."

_And what am I supposed to say to that?_ I thought. I didn't even know what to feel: anger, horror, regret, confusion—hell, even _gratitude_ were warring within me. The best friend I'd ever had had confessed that she loved me in a romantic sense. The kindest, most just woman I knew had confessed to committing at least four murders (and probably more, judging by her disheveled state that spoke of several vicious fights to reach this point) for the sake of that love.

I thought at first that I was starting to feel faint, that my vision was going hazy with how my brain was whirling. But that was not the case, I soon realized. There was a haze growing in the room, instead—a haze of smoke that was curling under the door! It hadn't been my senses playing tricks at all earlier when I'd smelled it, but the smell of real smoke—because the house was on fire!

"Shizuru!" I yelped. "Did you do this?"

She looked confused at first, then realized what I must mean by it.

"Oh, the fire? Yes, I did. I told you that I burned the contents of the vault, did I not?"

"The vault, yes, but the whole house?"

"It is the best way. Burn it all to ash, and so conceal the evidence of all that has happened here. A skilled investigator will determine that it was arson, but will such skill be brought to bear? Will a blackened skeleton reveal that it has been shot or stabbed to any but the most exacting medical eye—and would that eye even be consulted? Any remaining First District members who know their master's identity would be scrambling to bury their association, not encourage it, and to that end would seek also to bury such matters thoroughly. Meanwhile, anyone not aware of the Obsidian Court will see only another tragedy, with no need to press further. It will all be over for you at last, and you can begin living _your_ life."

Temper rose up in me at that last remark of hers, momentarily drowning the other emotions.

"Over? Begin living my life? Like the past is all dead and buried and I can go frolicking gaily into the future? After all this?" I swept my hand in an arc, indicating the smoke, the dead man, Shizuru, everything. "How can you say things are over? What about _us_? You've turned everything on its ear between us, everything I thought I knew or believed. That is not an end, Shizuru, it's a bloody _beginning_."

"Is it?" she asked in an offhanded manner, then started to walk towards me, crossing the distance in smooth, even steps. My hackles rose, I even shuddered, as I had no idea what this strange, new Shizuru meant to do. I seemed to freeze in place as her left hand raised, reaching for me. She cupped my face, her fingers and palm searingly warm, like a brand marking my flesh. She leaned in, so close that the loose folds of her kimono brushed my shirt, and her breath tickled my lips as she whispered, "You're trembling, Natsuki."

I was; I couldn't deny it, I was mesmerized by the clouded scarlet of her eyes, terror and anticipation and something else, something primal and unnamable all melding together. My fear-struck imagination conjured up the image of her knife piercing me, claiming me, so strongly that I could feel the pain below my sternum, and yet I could not move to push her away. Was that to be the ultimate proof of her statement that this was the end?

And then her lips were on mine, soft and warm, urging my mouth open with gentle pressure so that I could taste the sweetness. I felt..._something_...seem to uncoil deep within me, a twisting feeling in my belly that I neither knew nor understood. My senses swam from the flood of unfamiliar sensations, but at the same time the focus on the physical shattered my temporary paralysis.

My hands shot up, grabbed Shizuru's wrists, and pushed her back. The sudden parting sent a sting of cold through my lips and I licked them reflexively, tasting the sheen of saliva she'd left behind.

"Shizuru, what are you _doing_?"

She smiled sadly at me.

"Proving a point." With a sigh, she added, "But there's still one more thing left for me to do."

Point? What point? What the hell was she _talking_ about, anyway? Why couldn't she just come out and say what she meant? And this talk about having something else to do—that, too, sent cold fingers walking up and down my spine with the certainty I wouldn't like it.

That was when she turned towards the far door.

"Shizuru!"

She had her hand on the knob by the time I was galvanized into motion. I felt like I was moving through water, only the resistance wasn't physical but the hesitation caused by my own fears, my own rapidly shifting emotions. Smoke billowed into the room in a choking, stifling cloud. There was no fireball, but what I could see through the haze of the hallway beyond was lit a ghastly orange, like a vision of Hell, and flames licked along the molding where the wall and ceiling met.

"Goodbye, Natsuki," she said as I doubled up, coughing from the lungfuls of smoke I had gotten by not being prepared, and then she stepped through the door, closing it behind her. I flung myself at it, twisting the knob, only to find it locked—the key must have been in place on the other side for her to turn it at once.

"Shizuru!" I shouted again, hoarsely. "Shizuru!" I hammered on the door, but if she even heard me, she did not relent. The door was too heavy, too solid for me to charge down, and by the time I got the Yale lock picked I'd be walking into an inferno. As with everything else, her timing and awareness in this matter had been both precise and accurate.

There was nothing I could do.

She'd made sure that the ending really was an ending. She'd destroyed the haunters of my past, the bastards who'd destroyed my family for the sake of their endless greed and fear of exposure. She'd made sure that the Obsidian Court couldn't be resurrected—or if it was, it would be in name and spirit but not with a practical link to myself or my past, for them or for me. She'd left me walking away from it all, not _clean_, exactly, but at least without having to scream "Out, damned spot!" some night in the future. And she'd taken the last step, to make sure that I didn't have to fight my way through how I felt about it all but could just sweep it into the past as irrelevant.

As if I could.

I could feel the heat swelling from behind the door. The library would go up like a tinderbox when the flames reached it. If I didn't want the end of my past to be the end of my future, too, I had to get out. I rushed to the door I'd entered by and, finding it still cool, flung it open. The back hall was smoky, and although not yet aflame that condition wasn't going to prevail for long: I could see the telltale flicker of orange from both ends. Accordingly, I moved fast, stepping over the dead man on my way back to the morning room, keeping my body as low as I could where the air was clearest. the fire was licking along the ceiling there, having obviously worked its way down from above—_apparently Shizuru was as thorough an arsonist as she is as anything else—_but I got across the room to one of the windows. Sweat poured down my face, but I got the lock open and the sash raised, only to be stopped by the metal shutters. Thankful that the heat wasn't enough yet to bake them red-hot, I fumbled uselessly with the bolts for twenty or thirty seconds that seemed like hours. I was convinced the whole time that the ceiling was about to fall in on me in a rage of flaming debris, but somehow it held until the bolts snapped back, I flung the shutters open, and dove out into the yard.

The rain hit my overheated body with a sudden shock; it was still pouring and the difference between the ovenlike room and the cold spring night was striking. I crossed the long, heading not for the gate but the wall; I could already hear the shouts of concerned neighbors and passerby and the clangor of bells from the fire brigade's wagons. There was no sign of the guard, which I put down to Shizuru's work.

It was entirely possible that the only survivors of the Obsidian Prince's palace would be the mastiffs. Drugged by me, they were out in the wet grass well away from the inferno.

I shrank back into the shadows of the wall and waited for the yard to fill with that mix of well-meaning rescuers and morbid curiosity-seekers that was always present at any disaster. Then I simply joined the crowd, watching the flames eat the building from within even as the rain fought back, keeping the fire from extending to lawn, trees, and neighboring houses.

At last, the shell of the house was unable to stand under its own weight, and with a thunderous crash that elicited many gasps and screams from the onlookers, the roof and walls fell in atop the blaze. The fire continued to rage, tearing at this fresh fuel, but without shelter from the driving rain it was impossible to keep itself going forever and, at last, nature's fury won out over the manmade one, leaving the Obsidian Prince and his works a pile of smoldering ashes and charred timber.

The metaphor for my life and my past couldn't have been more explicit, and I couldn't help but think that Shizuru had deliberately sent me that message. Only, I thought to myself as I slipped off into the night, another anonymous face in the rain-soaked crown, this was one part of the affair she'd gotten wrong.

My mother's death had ruled my existence for nearly fifteen years.

I was certain that I would carry the mark of my time with Shizuru Viola for much longer than that.

~X X X~

_A/N: When Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock Holmes at the end of "The Final Problem" in 1893, it took eight years for Holmes to return in print in _The Hound of the Baskervilles_, a prequel novel, and another two years for him to actually return to "life" in "The Adventure of the Empty House."_

_I don't think I'll wait that long. ^_^ Among other things, I think my readers wouldn't be content to wear black armbands of mourning like Conan Doyle's did. They're more likely to form lynch mobs. ^_- Seriously, though, this story is Part 5 of the braided novel, and I really don't want to leave things any longer than I have to. You already had to wait six or so months between the end of "Deep Waters, Natsuki" and the beginning of _The Final Problem_, a delay that was made all the worse by my needing to skip over "You Know My Methods, Natsuki" due to writer's block._

_So, instead, I'll see you in two weeks (presumably that you haven't all given up in disgust by now...) for the start of "The Empty House"!_

_Inspiration for this story came from several different "unwritten cases" in the Holmes canon. Baron Maupertuis and the scandal of the Netherland-Sumatra Company came from a reference in "The Reigate Puzzle." Merridew "of abominable memory" was from a reference in, ironically enough, "The Adventure of the Empty House." And the Abernetty case, solved by observing how far the parsley had sunk into the butter, was a reference to the importance of trifles in "The Adventure of the Six Napoleons."_

_Some of you may object to my transferring Shizuru's destruction of the First District in _My-HiME_ to the Sherlock Holmes character. I can only defend myself by referring you to various incidents in the Holmes canon where Holmes chooses the cause of justice above the cause of law and order: in "The Boscombe Valley Mystery," "The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton," "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange," and "The Adventure of the Devil's Foot," he makes the deliberate decision to let the murderer go. Most of all, though, I refer you to "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs," where the crook "Killer" Evans shoots and wounds Watson. Holmes's reaction, upon finding that it is only a minor wound is: "'By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive.'" I think the combination not unfitting, when we merge the two characters, to lead to Shizuru's course of action._


End file.
